


The final warning from God to those who resist

by saikowrites



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (the comfort part arrives way later), Akechi Goro Lives, Akechi Goro Redemption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad life decisions, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Feelings, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Multi, NO ROYAL SPOILERS, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Persona 5 Spoilers, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Stein's Gate AU, Time Loop, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Video Game Mechanics, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 54,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22416976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saikowrites/pseuds/saikowrites
Summary: "Worldline: this term refers to an infinte number of possible worlds. However, said worlds do not exist in parallel. Only one exists at a given time."Or, Akechi Goro refuses to die in a miserable engine room and triggers a shift in time and space that lets him live. Except, he has to face Akira's death instead.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, hinted!Akira/everyone, past!shumako
Comments: 23
Kudos: 160





	1. Goro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some specifics before we start, as this fic will last a while!:  
> \- I didn't see ANY of the P5R spoilers. So, if you have looked at the spoilers, please refrain from any comment. I'm sticking with P5-vanilla-canon in this fic. I started to structure this between May and June 2019 and it took me forever to start writing it because I wanted to improve my writing first. I know the Royal will probably set a new canon, but I hold dear this project very much because Stein's Gate is one of my favorites anime EVER.  
> \- As for S;G. If you haven't watched Stein's Gate: go watch it please it's awesome. And also, you don't have to worry, as the plot will focus more on P5 than S;G, and all the new dynamics will be explained at the right time.  
> \- As for S;G spoilers: there is only one real big spoiler, but it's implied. I can't assure you it won't affect your fruition of the anime, though. So, feel free to read or don't read this fic knowing that.  
> \- This fic will have 3 povs: Goro, Akira and Makoto. Also, I won't spoil the plot with the tags, so the tag section will be updated together with the fic.
> 
> Terms of Service section closed!  
> I hope you enjoy this fic and its (time)trip between worldlines and Palaces. Let me know if something isn't clear, I will either answer your question or update the fic to make it clearer.  
> Final thanks to [Discontinuous Qualia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sechzehn/pseuds/Discontinuous%20Qualia) for providing me with shuakes in this months of desolation away from the spoilers and talking about S;G. Also a big thank you to Hansei, who practically beta-reads all of my stuff and checks my writing technique<3

_‘The universe has a beginning, but no end – infinity.  
Stars, too, have their own beginnings, but their power results in their destruction – finite.  
It is those who possess wisdom who are the greatest fools. History has shown us this.  
You could say that this is the final warning from God to those who resist.’_

Dying because of some petty revenge by Shido’s men would have been better.  
No mourners, no regrets, no sappy farewell speeches and weepy protests from former betrayed allies. Only the pleasure of watching the man he despised the most falling from the Olympus they’ve created with dirt and blood.

The Thieves’ voices are a muffled scratch in his ears.

“Let’s make a deal. You won’t say no, will you?”, Goro asks.

And Joker promises. At least, his will, his goal, the only thing Goro worked so hard to achieve in his life is left in capable hands. No doubt Shido’s heart will be changed nonetheless, and his empire will crumble.

He faces his shadow-self. The thing is charming but subdued, has only honey-sweet words and admiring thoughts for Shido. It knows its role and its purpose: gladly serving Shido and more than gladly dying for him. Tangible proof of the image Goro has been crafting for years to cover up his real plans. It brings him no satisfaction.

“So, my final enemy is a puppet version of myself,” he spits.

His stomach twists and there isn’t a part of his body that doesn’t ache. He glares at the shadow and points his gun, one last bullet ready to be shot. The shadow mimics the movement, and it has a far-west-cliché feeling. They will kill each other at the same time, and this is how his pathetic life is going to end.

His own words replay in his head, _if only we had met sooner_. How many times had he thought that? How many times had he whispered it over a fine cup of coffee at Leblanc while Kurusu wasn’t looking?

Maybe dying because of some petty revenge by Shido’s men would have felt nicer, but it would have been the lesser-evil death. And as he can’t erase the horrible choices he made, better live in jail his whole life than dying in a way so stupid, so miserable.

Goro’s finger reaches the trigger. Anger burns in his chest, so strong it might as well devour him; it consumes the air in his lungs and leaves him breathless. The spark born from fury and willpower lights up the flame of rebellion, which transmutes into a blaze. Adrenaline rushes trough his body and it’s familiar, as though he’s awakening a Persona for the third time.

He sprints against the shadow. A shrill chuckle echoes in his head and reverberates in his heart, _I see fire in those eyes_ it says.

The shadow starts and recovers. But Goro aims. Shoots. And the thing vanishes in a scream.

The room blurs and doubles; his head so light it makes him stumble. He takes a sharp breath and adjusts his movements to fight the two remaining shadows. But everything around him is still, and the enemies are gone. His heartbeat is a deafening drum in his ears, takes over every other sense and overwhelms that light voice in his head. He turns and there are no emergency shutters, no Phantom Thieves in the engine room. There’s nothing.

The spark is over and pain stings in his wounded side as if he’d been shot again. Goro breathes for air, but his chest protests and his eyes prickles, sending him kneeling on the ground. He’ll die in any case if he doesn’t hurry out of this hellish ship.

He holds tight his hip, right below the injury, and clenches both fists. The world around him is spinning and he focuses on the floor, on his gloved hands, on the far wall of the room that invades his peripheral vision. There are still no shutters in the room, but booths and legs take shape in the distance. Other people. The Thieves. And a shadow wearing his own clothes.

He looks up and fights the impulse to retch. Before his blurry eyes, his double-self opens fire against Joker, strikes right to the chest with perfect aim. Goro’s gaze locks on him, on the life flowing away from his body, on the fall of his limbs.

Everybody screams and Goro can’t connect. He searches for his gun, points, fires a second time.

The shadow-body collapses. “You, little piece of shit…” it slurs, and disappears.

“Fox, the weaklings!”, Queen commends. Two little explosions and they follow their master’s fate. Goro clings to his gun and wonders why it’s still loaded. Why the magazine isn’t empty. Why his damned puppet-copy was still alive. Why Joker is _dead_.

“No,” he mutters. This is so wrong. He killed that shadow himself, didn’t he? It was only moments ago. He was ready to die but didn’t want to. He was close, but he survived. He won against that thing. So why, _why_?

“Mona, cast a healing spell on Crow. I don’t think he’s in the state of doing anything by his own,” Queen says, voice cracked.

“What?”

“We can’t leave him here and run. Mona, please.”

“Well,” Skull kicks in with a snarl, “he sure tried to kill us you know.”

“Fine!”, Panther exhales, her pitch higher than usual, “I’m healing him.”

High heels clatter in his direction, and the refreshing blessing of a Diaharan spell soothes his body. A pink-gloved hand stretches before him.

“Are you all right?”, she asks. Her eyebrows are furrowed, her eyes glassy, and her lips pressed thin with both concern and caution. Her hand slides back on her side.

Goro stands up, and everyone’s gazes are upon him. Should he be sorry? Should he be resenting them for not reacting in time? But why should he care?

“I’m all right,” he answers, voice forced steady, “more or less. Thank you.”

Skull takes a step closer, but Queen grabs him by the jacket. “We need to exit this Palace. _Now._ ”

The boy grunts. “Fine.” He leans down beside Joker’s body – _corpse_. “Don’t you dare touch him or do anything or I swear I’ll make you regret you survived. Help me out, Yusuke.”

Fox reaches Joker’s face and unmask him, closes his eyes with a sharp twist of his mouth. He assists Skull in carrying him on his back. Navi scans the map for the shortest escape route in nervous silence, her look shooting to the other boys from time to time.

“I think I’ve found something,” she states, “it should be large enough for the Mona-bus. So that, you know, we don’t have to – there’s no need to bring him –”

Noir strangles a sob. “Thank you, Navi,” she whispers, “I think we can go, then.”

The Thieves exchange a look and turn their heads at him. Ground crumbles beneath Goro, and he’s the most miserable person on Earth.

“I can find a way out on my own, now. You don’t have to – I think you can go without me.”

Amazing how fast a person can switch between fighting to survive and wishing to die.

Queen’s icy glare pins him on the spot. “We are not done yet. I hope you aren’t thinking about running away or expose ourselves. Because it won’t be that easy.”

“Not in the slightest,” Goro blurts out. He’s not even figured out what happened, what it’s still happening. He opens his mouth again, wants to give his word. Not that his word could mean much, not anymore. He stays silent and looks away.

The group turns around and exits the engine room in a way that resembles a procession more than a stealthy escape. Goro has never lived the mourning of the ones who were close to his victims, and even though he might not be the exact responsible for this death, it’s impossible not to feel like it. A rasp laughter scratches his throat and turns into a desperate cry. What a mess. What a cruel joke, to fail the two times he wanted to kill Joker with all his heart and mind, and to witness his death once the bloodlust had faded.

Goro considers confronting Shido’s shadow, right now and on solo fighting, short of ammunition and with his energy at low level. As long as his body itches for revenge, it would be a suicide. _We are not done yet_ , Makoto warned him. He sighs and drags himself towards the exit of the room and to the side bridge of the ship.

He searches for his phone and opens the navigation app. The log screen that shows infiltration progress and key-points refreshes and updates the latest actions. Goro’s finger lingers on the screen, near the button. Something in the log is off. His stomach clenches and a hot wave hits his face. The dates don’t correspond.

He scrolls further and further, but the days and the progression are different from the ones he remembers. It appears that he entered Shido’s palace earlier and more often. But that’s impossible. The scrolling continues. He reaches the area of the timeline that sums up the infiltration in Sae’s Casino. It states, without a doubt, that their mission had begun and ended in November.

_But this is ridiculous. We started on October 29 th._

He’s sure. He planned every detail, every hour of every day.

December air stings his nostrils and makes his nose wrinkle, his breath runs short from panic and cold. He swallows everything down and strides towards the subway. He needs to take the first train to Yongen-Jaya and get to the others, make sure whether or not his mobile phone is playing him some trick. Or perhaps executing people with clear head is finally taking a toll on him and he’s imagining things that never happened. Besides, he was badly injured, and his mind was fogged with the aftermath of the berserk, the fight, the outburst. Makoto commented that he _‘wasn’t in the state of doing anything by his own_ ,’ after all.

But how could Goro have imagined the anger, the adrenaline rush, that voice?

Its words escape him. They’re clear on the tip of his tongue and at the same time a far-off memory. He’s only a step away from grasping them, but the step feels deep like a whole pit.

An angry sigh leaves his mouth. It’s no use to get bogged down by little pieces that don’t fit the puzzle, as if they were of the wrong shape for that specific picture.

Except… they are no little pieces.

The fight, the emergency shutters, Joker’s promise, the burning in his chest, that voice; all is still branded in his memory and his skin. And everything is like anything of that ever happened. Sakamoto’s disdain in his regards was nowhere near the pale form of concern he expressed right before his almost-death. No one of the Thieves had sympathetic words or looks for him, not even Niijima. She left him be only because there was a bigger, enormous problem to focus on, her glare made it clear enough.

In that engine room, he was weak and wounded… but there were no shutters. As if he never tried to sacrifice himself in order to let the Thieves escape alive.

Goro freezes before the staircase that leads to the trains. His memory isn’t wrong. But neither is his infiltration log on the app. There are no little pieces that don’t fit the puzzle. It’s more like the entire picture has shifted with another one.

His phone screen recites Monday, December 12th, a week until elections. The only detail that overlaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can clearly hear [Gate of Steiner](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4N_QBWC5rE) playing in the background at the end.
> 
> Thank you for reading this first chapter, hope you'll stick with me until the end! Uptades will take from 10 to 14 days I dare to say. I have all things planned but my uni life is a chaos of deadlines, so I prefer to stay loose with time.


	2. Makoto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On last chapter: Akechi survives, but the worldline changes and he has to face and live with Akira's death.
> 
> On this chapter: he's not the only one ho has to live with Akira's death. Also, flashbacks. And sighing - like, a hella lot of sighing.
> 
> Thanks to my dear friend Hansei, without whom this chapter wouldn't have been so polished in his final version. Sorry for the delayed update (by a week! argh) but this thing turned out double as long as I originally planned.

Makoto’s fingers run on the phone screen, a constant roll of soft taps. Her nails are neat and accurately shaped, the longest she’d managed to grow in years, thanks to Ann’ support with nail file and polish and Akira’s bad puns distracting her when her mind wandered too far away. She must not bite them.

A ringtone comes from her phone with Sae’s reply: _‘I’m already working on it, but we should nonetheless proceed with caution. As dire as the situation is, we are not allowed missteps.’_

Makoto fills the vacant ‘other’ at the end of the sentence and grits her teeth. Her throat burns, she wets her lips and bites down: she must not cry, there are more urgent matters to focus on. Leblanc’s attic is hosting a corpse that’s going to rot, election day looms over them worse than an incoming hurricane and Akechi has yet to show up to at least excuse himself for this huge mess, and-

A hand clenches on her right shoulder and a sob, more than a gasp, escapes Makoto’s mouth. Beside her on the attic’s couch, Haru stretches a painful smile, her cheeks marked by dried tears.

“You don’t have to lock up everything inside you, Makoto. I’m sure the world won’t fall even if you let loose a tiny bit for a tiny moment.”

Whited knuckles and phone blur in her lap, and Makoto twists her head away. Brick by brick she’s built a wall since the shadow pointed the gun against Akira, and she knew exactly what was going to happen but couldn’t reach her revolver fast enough.

Haru’s hand still lingers on her shoulder and squeezes. Makoto swallows down the lump in her throat and sniffs.

“Thank you, Haru. I don’t – can I be alone for a while?”

“Are you sure it will be all right?”

Makoto nods.

“I’ll join the others downstairs, then. Call for us if you’ll need, ok?”

“Of course,” she whispers.

The old wooden steps creak, and she’s alone with her mourning. Makoto sets the phone aside on the couch and crouches near the bed. Akira’s face is plain, mouth thin, glasses off and eyes closed, hair falling in messy curls shaped as a black halo around his head. Death in books was often compared to sleep by many. But the rise and fall of Akira’s chest while asleep still warms her memory, as the way his eyebrows furrowed when Morgana curled up on his chest or his stomach. ‘Sleep’ is a term too delicate, too kind for ‘death’. She brushes fingers against his own, cold, and all is… empty.

Her trembling arm stretches towards his chest, near the pocket with the Shujin-High emblem embroidered on it. The black blazer is flawless, although a bit wrinkled. The hole dug by the bullet disappeared together with Joker’s coat.

She didn’t get to see her father during the funeral wake. Sae let her in the room only when the coffin was to be burnt. She’d been disappointed at the time, upset for being treated like the little girl she still was. What a humor that fate possesses.

“Why must I had to lose you, too?” she cries out.

Brick by brick she’s built a wall, a dyke. But a dyke is only good to contain a river. Roaring waves hit her hard, throw her offshore and into deep sea.

Makoto clenches fists and weeps and buries her face in the covers and holds her breath as much as she can to silence every sound that might be just loo loud. It’s unfair, it’s wrong, it’s infuriating, it’s so fucking disgusting and she’s just so powerless.

Tears spill and run out, her energies flowing away with them. She lifts her head, eyes on fire and hair stuck dump on her cheeks and forehead. The checkered pattern of Shujin trousers spins, and lines mix with colors that mix with the lights and shadows following the shape of his legs. Her stomach knots, her legs shake. Getting up is too much.

She lays down, away from the wet stain she’s cried out, a bit nearer Akira’s head. Far memories of more lighthearted days tickle her mind, and she’s too tired to push them away. Her eyes close, and the familiar scent of the blankets lulls her to unconsciousness.

Akira only half-joked, asking her to stop by him after school. Makoto’s mouth went dry, and her heart skipped a beat; red tinged her cheeks, _‘you’ve only been dating for a month’_ some annoying voice hissed inside her brain. She frowned at herself and shut that out.

“I’d be glad to,” she replied, and savored the little crack of surprise on the boy’s usual mask.

In the attic, Akira asked if he could kiss her, ever the gentleman.

“We’ve been dating for a month, you know,” she replied to him and reminded to herself, face flushed and heart pounding. Not knowing what to do or how to do it was far more embarrassing than the thought of the kiss itself. She bit her lip.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m the older one and thus the lead should be mine, but-”

Akira shook his head, came a step closer. His mouth was thin and, looking down at her, his unruly fringe fell lower on his eyes, before the lens of his glasses. Makoto lightly grabbed the thick black frame and took them off. Akira’ shoulders flinched, and his lips parted a little, fine and delicate as a girl’s but with a more elongated shape.

Their skin touched, soft and warm, and Makoto wondered who’d been the first to lean in.

Hands cupped her face with a tenderness so delicate it made her chest clench. Her grip tightened on Akira’s glasses and she smiled in the first kiss, the second, the third. Her nose brushed against his cheek and breathed in his smell of coffee and curry, of herbal bath salts and Morgana’s cat fur. She got on her tiptoes and pressed against him with more intent, to taste more, explore more, as if the contact between their joined mouths wasn’t enough already.

Akira parted for air, sincere amusement in the corner of his eyes and in the smirk of his expression. His mouth moved as if speaking, but no voice came out of him.

Leblanc’s doorbell rings in the distance, a muffled echo too far away. A thud, as if someone slammed a hand on a table, and phrases and names that are too confused for her to understand.

Makoto wakes with a start. Her eyelids are still heavy as if cut in concrete, but her limbs scream for some blood and movement; they prickle and sting and slow down her motion. She stretches and massages her fingers, runs a hand through her hair and combs it at best, straightens the wrinkles on her skirt. A deep breath. The black frames of Akira’s neatly folded glasses stand out on the sheets, and her hand extends to them. Her body shakes, and she cuts the movement halfway. She must grab her phone and leave.

The warm air of Leblanc’s café, filled with living people that argue and bicker, embraces her body and soothes her soul. Empty cups are scattered on the counter, Sojiro too busy brewing another round of coffee to gather them, his movements firm and practiced yet stiffer, his face marked by a deep, sad frown.

Makoto clears her voice.

“I’m sorry I’m late, everyone.”

Seven heads and a cat head turn in her direction with little smiles and nods, and her lips quirk slightly upward. A pair of reddish-brown irises lock with hers, tired and bewildered. Her smile vanishes.

Akechi’s mouth tightens, and he looks away.

Haru walks near her. “How are you?” she asks.

“I’m-” she sighs, “I’m here. Up on my feet again, I guess. Thank you.”

“Don’t even say it,” Ann replies from one of the booth seats, her pitch lower than usual, her voice weaker. Beside her, Ryuji nervously fumbles in a snack pack for more chips, thin brows curled and gaze shooting between her and Akechi, who stands by the side of the counter nearer to the door, not a chance to be part of the group in the slightest.

_‘No one seems to truly like him’,_ Akira thought aloud, voice low but clear above the distant tickle of November rain. His eyes stayed focused on math notes, but his right hand spun the pencil between his fingers.

“I’m not saying he’s not… likeable. And his charm and fame certainly prove him right, but – it’s not like we can appreciate someone who’s going to betray us.”

Akira nodded, face still on his homework. Makoto erased part of the diagram on her sheet and outlined it again, with more precision.

“You know you’re playing with fire, don’t you” she added. “Just – don’t get burned, ok?”

Some Joker-ish smirk she got in response.

Makoto blinks, her forehead furrowed tight. Tiredness numbs her mind, makes everything slower, farther; all her concentration gathers to state, “So, you didn’t run.”

“No,” Akechi shakes his head, “I’m actually here to offer you all my apologies, for what it’s worth. And secondly, if you don’t mind, to ask you something.”

“How fucking kind of you,” Ryuji spits from his seat. Ann’s elbows stay put, her face conflicted. Makoto pinches the bridge of her nose, a headache threatening to set in.

“I can’t say I don’t appreciate it, Akechi, but frankly I hope you do understand that the situation is complicated.”

He bows a little.

“I do. Apologies may sound out of sheer formality, but I truly am sorry for what happened. I can’t stop feeling like I could have prevented it in the first place. Still, I’m confused about certain… things. I fear I could have missed something because of my, ah, outburst?”

“I hope,” Yusuke shifts on the barstool, “that this is not to imply that you’re not in some way responsible for his death.”

“You better not,” Morgana adds from Ann and Ryuji’s table.

“Not in the slightest. I’m coming to terms with my mistakes and this certainly is one of the biggest. But it is true that I – how do I put it. I feel like I’m missing some pieces.”

Futaba, crouched on the other stool, looks up from her phone and adjusts her wide glasses on her nose. Her eyes are still reddened and tired, surely not because of the display.

“Ok, here’s the thing,” her voice trembles, “we gained the last letter we needed, and then you found us in that engine room. We fought – beat you hard, mostly, but you were a tough opponent – and you lost. Then that shadow-you appeared and threatened us all. It commented something about how you _‘weren’t fit for the job after all’_ and you looked _so_ furious and disgusted. But then you practically collapsed on the floor, and it pointed the gun and shot.”

Akechi’s hand poses to his chin, and one eyebrow arches on his forehead.

“I looked… furious and disgusted?”

“Man,” Ryuji scratches the back of his neck, “you were shaking. We all thought you were ‘bout to shoot that thing then and there.”

“…I see,” he mumbles. The leather of his black glove creaks, giving away the tightened grip on his chin; his eyes turn glassy, gaze unfocused and deep in thought.

Haru clears her voice, “you don’t look very good, Akechi. Is everything fine?”

Her shoulders are tense and her lips thin, her forced smile emanates annoyance more than concern. Akechi rouses with a little cough and makes up one of his practiced smiles, although weaker than any previous Makoto had witnessed.

“Yes – I’m sorry. I believe things might start clicking into place.”

“What the hell-” Ryuji starts.

Akechi interrupts him: “I have one last question for you Futaba Sakura, if I may. After that, I promise to stay silent or even leave, if this is what you all wish for.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Makoto blurts out. Every head in the room turn to her again. Her face burns, and so her eyes, her chest, her hands. She strides towards him and confronts him face to face, chin tilted up to compensate the height difference, which is so painfully similar to Akira’s, just a bit taller. The corner of her eyes prickle and it’s just more infuriating.

“Don’t think you can come here, drop some apologies, mind whatever business is going on inside that head of yours and then leave. Because it’s not going to happen. Even if it means I have to punch you in the face and knock you out personally.”

“That’s enough,” Sojiro scolds, “no scuffle in my café.”

Makoto backs off, glare sharp and contempt leaking from every word, “Akira even found you interesting, you know that?”

The start she receives from Akechi is priceless. It’s a petty move but serves him right. Maybe the guilt will make him shut up.

“Woah,” Ryuji whispers to Mona, not low enough, “I’m gettin’ some serious Kaneshiro flashbacks here.”

Sojiro shakes his head and sighs. He collects the empty cups on the counter and lays out the freshly brewed ones. Makoto shouldn’t drink coffee, this late in the evening and with her stomach still churning and twisting. She picks up a cup and let the liquid scorch her lips, her soul striving for something hot to cling to.

“I’m sorry Mr. Sakura,” she whispers, “it wasn’t very appropriate of me.”

“I understand your resentment,” Sojiro rubs his beard, “but let’s not complicate the situation further, shall we?”

Makoto nods and breathes in the pungent, steamy scent. Her shoulders weight even more.

Yusuke claims a cup for himself and passes one to Haru and Ann. Futaba gets off the stool and stands up right, head straight and gaze focused on Akechi.

“What did you want to ask?”

Makoto drowns the growl that’s mounting in her throat with more coffee.

“Don’t encourage him, Futaba,” Morgana chides.

Futaba pouts. “He asked something to me specifically, now _I_ want to know. I will talk to him alone if it’s so much of a hassle for you all.”

“Oh, I think not,” Sojiro steps in, wiping a cup with just too much effort.

“It’s not a problem,” Ann coughs, “besides, I’m curious, too.”

Ryuji lets out an exasperated sigh, at which Haru tries very hard to mask a giggle, at which Makoto nearly chokes on her coffee. Is it a good or a bad sign that they can still indulge in these skits?

“It was… nothing to serious, I believe,” Akechi says in hesitant tone, walking on eggshells. Her bitterness must have scared him. Good.

“If it wasn’t serious, you wouldn’t have asked,” Futaba points out, ever the voice of truth, “spit it out.”

Akechi offers a resigned smile, mute acceptance of defeat. Makoto’s own lips quirk up.

“I wanted to know,” he resumes, “how much you were familiar with the app you used to travel in and out of the Metaverse.”

“Very little,” Futaba replies with no hesitation. “Akira’s been the first one to use it, and he always said it had practically materialized on his phone one day and refused to be deleted. It’s been the same way for every one of us. I tried to analyze it, of course, but I found nothing. As for its code, it’s a perfectly normal app code, no strange things hidden among the strings.”

She bites her lower lip.

“However, I’m literal when I say I didn’t find anything. I searched everywhere, there’s no clue about where this app might come from, not even in its code. Sometimes, I wonder if it even is from this world. It’s not normal for an app that’s not nasty to behave like that; let alone allowing people to travel from one dimension to another.”

Futaba spaces out. She shakes her head and focus on the topic again.

“Anyway. Is it all you wanted to know? Because I remember giving you about the same explanation weeks ago.”

“No,” he reflects, “but, with the way things are, I’m not sure if it’s even possible to obtain an answer to my real question.”

Futaba frowns, “what about it?”

Silence stretches between them. Akechi’s eyes are so sharp they might cut them all in half. Makoto twitches her mouth; she might have to punch him for real.

“Do you believe,” Akechi asks, “that it’s possible for the infiltration log to display incorrect progress sequences?”

Futaba blinks, thrown off by the question; she turns to the barstool and crouches on it.

“I don’t think it’s impossible, but I’d say it’s highly unlikely. More importantly, I can’t possibly figure out what circumstances may get the app to show such an error. The code seemed solid and perfectly written to me.”

Her face lights up.

“Can I take a look?”

Sojiro sighs; Makoto drinks the last shot of coffee and hands him the cup with a sympathetic smile. Akechi, too, exhales a bad disguised sigh and searches for his phone in his pocket. Futaba takes out her own phone and opens the app. With both devices in hand, she scrolls through the log, and her gaze shoots back and forth between the displays, scanning every detail for something off. She nods and hums and whispers some ‘ok, ok’ until the log on Akechi’s app stops scrolling.

“First day of November is the last date your app can show. Obviously. It’s the day we began exploring the casino, so no big deal. What was off with the progress you were saying?”

A crack in Akechi’s expression; his pupils widen, and he shudders, draws in a short breath. He coughs, and it’s gone, his usual smile back on display for everyone to enjoy.

“Clearly nothing, I take. I was sure the log said the first day of infiltration in Sa- in Niijima Sae’s casino had been November 29th. But it seems I’ve been mistaken. Regardless, thank you very much for your help and sorry to have bothered you, and the others as well.”

Futaba shrugs and gives him back his phone, her eyes only a bit squinted. She turns to her own phone and taps the screen with restless fingers. Makoto doubts she’ll let the topic slip so easily.

Her pocket vibrates intermittently. She answers the call and her sister’s voice greets her.

_“Makoto, are you ok? You haven’t been responding to my messages. It’s late, trains will stop running in 40 minutes.”_

“I’m sorry, sis. I didn’t intend to stay out this late.”

A sigh from the speaker. It’s starting to turn into a leitmotif.

_“I know the situation it’s difficult for you, but you have to come back. Tomorrow-”_

“Akechi is here.”

_“Is he? My God, I’ve been trying to call him for hours. Can I talk to him?”_

Makoto lends him the phone. His eyes and mouth widen, he accepts the phone with a dubious look.

“Sae? Good evening. Yes – I know. I’m sorry, I should have picked at least one of the calls.”

His teeth linger on his bottom lip, and a hint of pink tinges his cheeks.

“No,” he continues, “I haven’t decided yet-”

Silence. He frowns, blinks, inhales to speak and stays quiet. Makoto would sell all her backup weapons to Iwai and pay the gained money to hear what the conversation is about.

“But-” Akechi loses all his composure, “you can’t possibly suggest this. It’s – I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but do you even have the authority to do it?”

His mouth widens even more. His eyebrows draw nearer and his shoulders tense, leather creaks with the tightened grip around her mobile phone. Her instinct screams ‘danger’ with all the force it has, twisting her stomach and throat.

“Fine – I don’t have a say, do I? It was foolish of me to overlook your determination, it seems.”

Akechi lends her back the phone, avoiding he gaze, resentment leaking from the set of his shoulders and the grimace of his mouth. Makoto accepts it and resumes the conversation, a bad hunch digging in her chest.

“Sis?”

_“Akechi is coming with you.”_

Is it a joke? It must be.

“What?!”

_“Someone needs to keep a close eye on him. I won’t allow a kid who’d murdered countless people and is still able to travel to the Metaverse the freedom to stay by his own and wonder as he pleases. I hope I don’t have to remind you how this situation is complicated. I know we adults asked for the help of your group. In hindsight, it was reckless of us.”_

“But sis, he’s right, you don’t have the legal authority to do this.”

_“To be frank, Makoto, I gathered up all his documents and labeling them ‘suspicious’ would be an understatement. I still don’t know how deep Shido’s claws have sunk into him and his life but trust me if I say he is in no position to make a stand.”_

Makoto wishes she had 100¥ for every sigh exhaled during this day.

“There is no other choice, I guess?”

_“No. Mr. Sakura has already too much to deal with, and we can’t give Akechi to the police yet. He might be the key to build a case against Shido, but you know better than me how that man has tides everywhere. You’re a smart girl Makoto, I hope you understand.”_

Ever the pragmatist her sister, isn’t she?

“I do. I’ll be back home as soon as I can. See you later, sis.”

Sojiro lights up a cigarette and gives her a worried look. Makoto stretches a wry smile, tugs some loose strands of hair behind her ears, gets up from the stool and retrieves her schoolbag from the table where she’d left it.

“I’m going home, guys. And Akechi’s coming with me.”

A collective ‘WHAT?!’ roars in the café.

“Your sister’s orders, I take,” Sojiro points out.

“Ugh,” Ryuji comments, “I don’t envy you.”

“I’m still here,” Akechi coughs. A glare from the blonde is everything he gets in response.

Morgana jumps from the table to the wood piece diving one booth seat from the other.

“What are we doing with the Palace?”

“We’re sendin’ the calling card, duh,” Ryuji replies.

“But,” Ann questions, “are we sure? Like, really, _really_ , sure?”

Ryuji’s head turns in her direction, and his disbelieving, disappointed look accuses them all.

“What’s the problem with you all? I thought we’ve already had this discussion.”

“We lost our leader, Ryuji,” Haru tries to mediate, “please understand it if not everyone of us instantly wants to leap into action and take revenge.”

“It’s not only about revenge, though,” Yusuke intervenes, “election day is due to come in one week. Everything will get even worse, for all of us, if we don’t do something.”

“You kids are – nevermind,” Sojiro grumbles. “But don’t count Futaba into this. I can’t allow something to happen to her, too.”

“Seems you’re out of your navi, too, guys,” Futaba states, hurt in her voice.

Morgana twitches his tail, “I can be the navi! It’s not like it was any different when we started.”

Ryuji’s eyes glow, “And Makoto can be the leader!”

Could she? She supposes so. But would it feel right? Arranging tactics and analyzing enemies on the battlefield suited her, she’s slipped into that role as if it was her second nature. But leading the group, guiding missions and making decisions, that role was on a whole other level. Akira was the most suited for that, being him the point of convergence of all their lives and fates. Akechi had said that without their leader, the group would be lost: they scoffed at that, and prepared a counter-plan. Shido affirmed on national television that the Phantom Thieves would no longer be a threat after the so-called-suicide of their leader: they all grinned at the screen, knowing (hoping?) that he was still alive.

Akira died, in the end. Turns out Akechi might have been right the whole time: they’re no good without a leader. Could Makoto fill the void that Akira has left?

“I don’t know, Ryuji,” she mutters, “it’s a lot to ask of me right now.”

“Yeah,” he retreats, “sure. No problem. This makes it me, Mona and Yusuke, right?”

“I’m not saying that I don’t want to,” Ann thinks aloud, “but I’m tired, sad, and I need to drown my regrets in sweets. I can’t make this decision right now. Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Ann’s right,” Makoto adds, “this is not the best possible moment to be talking about something this serious. Besides, I don’t know how much my sister will keep me under surveillance from now on. If she suspects I might try to still get involved into this, she could as well lock me in the house and only allow me to go out to attend classes and preparation school.”

“That would be the wisest decision,” Sojiro steps in, a severe cut in his eyes. “I’m in no position to warn your parents, physically prevent you from doing this or sell you all to the police. But I seriously advise that you stop this madness.”

_‘Before another one of you has to die’_ , Makoto fills in the gap.

“Oook,” Ann stands up with a big stretch, “we’re meeting tomorrow after school. My house. I’ll give you the address on the group chat. We _seriously_ need to think this through and maybe eat something in the meanwhile.”

Everyone gathers their belonging, thanks Sojiro for the coffee and the general willingness, and wishes goodnight. Makoto steps towards the door, the last one in the group. She stops on the threshold, door open and hand still clenching around the handle.

“I’m really, deeply sorry Mr. Sakura. I… feel like I saved him once, and that that in some way made me think I wouldn’t need to look out for him a second time.”

“You don’t need to, Makoto. It’s not your fault. You’ve been by his side and I can say this meant much to him. Thank you.”

Her nose twitches in tandem with the burn in her throat. She bows and whispers a broken ‘goodnight’; the door closes behind her and the freezing air of a mid-December night greets her outside the comfortable embrace of Leblanc’s café. Akechi’s eyes lingers on her, a quizzical look on his face. Makoto wipes the tears away from her cheeks and strides past him, heading to the subway.

“I’m not in the mood to talk. Please just follow me.”

A sigh, and Akechi is by her side, silent and deep in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll add a song for this chapter if it comes to my mind.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's following! Next chapter will have: Akechi's pov, A ChatTM, and some explanations. As usual, updates will come in 14-20 days I guess? I'm determined not to fall behind.


	3. Goro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On last chapter: Makoto freaks out a bit, everyone sighs, Akechi nearly gets punched.
> 
> On this chapter: EXPLANATIONS and some other time-space shenanigans.
> 
> This chapter is late and I'm tired. It took forever to write this because the first part was difficult to picture out and the second part has lots of information and avoiding infodumps had been challenging. Also Igor is a pain in the ass to move, thx bye.  
> Usual shoutout to Hansei, thanks to whom the writing is (hopefully) on point and the amount of guilt-trip people do to Akechi here is like 10x

Buildings and skyscrapers blur through the window, for the most part covered by the reflection of commuters and empty seats inside the carriage. The train slows down, and the straps swing more frantically; few passengers get up and head to the doors. Goro shifts in his seat, but Niijima’s head in the glass is turned, avoiding him on purpose. The thought of having personally wronged her – more than any other of the Thieves – is an itch in the back of his mind. Niijima had always been a simple girl, quick to understand and easy to frame, even with Queen’s mask on – although, she got more commanding in the Metaverse. Being threatened to get a fist on his face meant his picture of her was incomplete, at best.

She’s typing on her phone, a knot on her brows, as if she’s forgotten about his presence – which could only be good for him. Goro entered the café, and she was still upstairs; she came down with grief weighing on her shoulders and the corner of her eyes so reddened she might have spent the previous two nights awake as well. And the way she kept speaking with Mr. Sakura, with that polite tone of hers that lacked the expected formalities, as though the man was accustomed to having her around more than the rest of the group. Could it mean…

“Hey, Akechi,” Niijima’s reflection waves a hand in his direction, “don’t stare and get up. The next one is ours.”

She gets on her feet and waits for the train to stop. They pass in front of one sign after another with the stop’s name on it, but no bell rings in his head reading it. The station only has two platforms, and of the few small-sized shops only the 777 is still open. A lonely car drives by the streets surrounding the station, enclosed in lines of tall residential buildings.

Niijima gestures him to take the first on the right and speeds up her pace, so straightforward, so confident Goro will follow without questioning. His grip on the handle of the briefcase tightens, and he walks behind her, a muffled whistle in his ears from the heavy silence of the night. He’s used to the being-alone-silence, to the intimacy of his apartment that lets him reflect better than any other place, but aside from lessons, being with other people without even small-talking is foreign territory. _He_ is the one who usually leads the conversation, however trivial the topic is.

Niijima stops before the gate of a twelve-floors flat complex and fumbles in her schoolbag for the keys.

“Is Sae still not home yet?” he can’t help but ask.

“She shouldn’t be. We better hope we still made it before her,” her shoulders reply, at which Akechi frowns. Could Sae be this strict even in circumstances like these?

They walk past a corridor and enter the elevator. The apartment is on the seventh floor which, unlike Akechi’s own building, only has three doors. Niijima inserts the keys in the lock, but they don’t fit properly. She exhales what must be the millionth sigh Goro has witnessed from her tonight and rings the doorbell.

Heels clatter on the floor and the door opens, revealing Sae Niijima with her working suit still on at past midnight.

“Good evening, Sis. I’m home. Sorry for being this late,” younger-Niijima apologizes. Sae shakes her head and moves a step aside to let them in, “You could have at least informed me, Makoto.”

“Good evening, Sae. Please pardon me for the bother and the… general situation,” Goro greets, already feeling bad enough for the girl without her getting scolded by her sister right then and there. Sae’s expression hardens and she gestures him to come in as well, her severe gaze following his every movement as Goro might disappear in the blink of an eye.

“Have you two at least eaten something?”

“No,” they reply. His stomach twists but his mouth goes dry at the thought of food. He wishes he could get done with the inevitable chat as soon as possible and wrap his tired mind around the information he gained from Sakura Futaba.

“There should be some leftover soup and grilled mackerel in the fridge, Makoto. I’m sorry it’s not a proper dinner but it should be enough for you.”

“And you, sis?”

“I already ate something quick at work. Don’t worry about me.”

Silence stretches between them. Goro keeps quiet. Makoto shoots a gaze toward her sister, puts down her schoolbag and head to the kitchen area. The living room is modernly furnished, tidy as an often-empty, poorly lived room can be, but clean and organized. A corner couch and a carpet delimit the proper tv-area, completed by a glass coffee table, and a furniture with the television on, placed between two bigger compartments. Minimal and practical. In hindsight, it’s to be expected from Sae.

The woman is concentrated on the bag left on the floor near the couch. Or rather-

“Akechi,” she states, locking their gazes, “please don’t take this wrong or personally, but I have to ask you if you can lend me your briefcase.”

A laugh escapes his mouth, and he chokes it with a hard cough.

“I don’t have a say on this topic either, have I?”

“I trust in your understanding of the situation and the position we are both in. It would be… complicated, if you don’t let me check the briefcase.”

“My,” he hands it out to her with a wince, “you do sound a bit like a mafia boss.”

“Hey,” Niijima warns him from the kitchen counter, “watch your tongue, Akechi.”

Goro’s head hurts. He needs to sleep or at least needs some time alone to focus on what happened in that hell of a ship that messed up his life more than he ever did in these past three years.

“My apologies,” he concedes, tentative, “it was gratuitous. I shouldn’t make this more difficult than it already is. You can keep it, Sae. I don’t think there’s anything necessary for the night inside it, besides maybe my phone charger.”

Sae lays the briefcase on the dining table and opens it. Goro stands still. She sets aside the handgun with only a flinch of her shoulders, her face inscrutable. Figures.

“You are still part of the police, aren’t you?” she comments with a flat tone.

“Technically speaking, yes, I am.”

There are only sheets of paperwork and his own schoolwork left in it. Taking him by word, she extracts the phone cable, closes the bag and puts it down against the wall. Niijima sets the table with the plates, the cups containing a steaming soup and two glasses of water. Sae’s hand gestures him to sit at the table, too.

“Now, please tell me what happened. The both of you.”

Goro’s eyes run to Niijima beside him. He’s by far not the best person who can speak about it with precise details or context information. One of her eyebrows shoots up, she exhales a ‘fine’ and exposes the facts with fewer pauses and a firmer voice than Goro would have expected.

He picks up some fish, out of politeness if anything. Re-heating the meat hasn’t done it any good, but the flavor is still more delicate and less salty than the one of canned mackerel. The miso soup has been preserved better, but it’s the heat that soothes his body and mind more than the rest, that brings back faded memories of his childhood, of early mornings spent eating homemade breakfast before kindergarten. And – well, this meal is more of a very late (or very early) breakfast than a proper dinner.

“Anything you would like to add, Akechi?” Sae asks him, her eyes sharp.

His heart drops a beat. He puts on a stretched smile and replies, “I fear I’m not the best person to fill in the details. I could offer some more apologies but your sister-”

A glare from Niijima. He coughs a little and recovers, “Both your sister and the Thieves made pretty clear to me that apologies are empty at this point. But I guess you would be more interested in a collaboration to build a proper case against Shido, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Sae nods, “I appreciate you being this reasonable. This is certainly not the place or the time to discuss this but let me ask you some questions. I have my take on the situation, but what about you? Why did you do what you’ve done?”

His arms itch with goosebumps. Cool down, it’s ok. It was inevitable. Don’t let it slip more than what is necessary.

“If I must say it now, it was a stupid decision to take. But we are all good at talking in retrospection. I don’t regret trying to take Shido down, but I do regret doing it by… killing people at his orders.”

Sae’s body gives away a start. Beside him, the girl freezes. Goro inhales, his face hot and his heart dropping to his feet. Hadn’t it been clarified yet?

“Makoto told me that much,” Sae spells every word, “but hearing it from your own mouth, with such a firm voice… Akechi. This is serious.”

He wishes he could disappear. He stares at his plate and resumes.

“I know all of this is very serious and certainly twisted. I had this long term goal with a single purpose in mind, and I thought I planned everything down so well – but it’s been double as stupid not to think that Shido might had planned everything as well and wanted to take advantage of me as long as I could do him good, isn’t it?”

Shit. He shouldn’t have said that much.

“I understand that this is not in any way an excuse for my actions. Obviously,” he hurries to add.

“Obviously not,” Sae agrees, pins him down into the chair. “Why do you hate him so much? Akechi, you do realize you started killing people at _fifteen_? No kid should find himself in a situation like that. Why did you give away your life and countless others only to do him harm?”

He turns to the younger Niijima, who frowns and replies: “Why are you looking at me as if I should know the answer?”

“Haven’t I-”

No, he didn’t. This-reality him must have been far better at keeping his mouth shut even in a berserk state than his-reality him.

“Never mind,” Goro shakes his head. “It’s because – well, truth be told, Shido is my father.”

Sae blinks. Makoto whispers a fed-up ‘God’.

“Are you – are you serious?” Sae questions.

“I truly, deeply wish I wasn’t. But it’s true. Not that he knows it, of course. I never mentioned this to him. He’s a no-good man who abandoned my mother when she was still pregnant. He only cares about his own power and ambition, and I’m sure – as well as you must be – that if he wins the election, this country is done for good.”

“I-” Niijima tries, “I’m sorry. But this doesn’t make anything less horrible.”

“It sure is an important detail to know,” Sae adds. “Many things start to make sense, now.”

“In any case,” she resumes, “there’s still too much yet to discuss and it’s late. We all should go rest for the day – especially you, Makoto. Akechi, we will resume our chat tomorrow. Please come with me.”

She gets up and exits the room with his briefcase. Goro stands up and grabs his dishes, but Niijima blocks him, “Don’t.” She takes in a breath. “Just – don’t worry about this. For now.”

He retreats with every hair on his body standing straight up and follows Sae in the corridor, where she waits near a door with two heavy blankets folded in her arms. His bag disappeared.

“This is the bathroom,” she turns on the light, “there’s a travel kit with a spare toothbrush, toothpaste and soap in the first drawer under the sink. You can use the towel that is hanged on the back of the door.”

She hands him the covers. “These should keep you warm for the night, and the sofa is pretty comfortable, I assure you. We don’t have clothes to lend you, though. I’ll ask Makoto if she can buy something on her way back from school tomorrow.”

Goro thanks her with a bow and a little smile. “I would say that it’s not necessary to bother your sister this much, but I take you won’t let me get out of this apartment in the immediate future, am I right?”

Sae stretches back a thin, tired smirk on her face. “I indeed always admired you for your presence of mind and pragmatism. It seems I don’t have to completely reconsider that side of your personality.”

She turns on her heels, back to the living room. Goro closes the door and faces his reflection in a real mirror, more defined and rougher than the one in the train window. Light dark circles trace the inferior shape of his eyes, and a healed cut crosses his cheek where his mask had been broken in the fight. All things considered he might have been worse. The thought gives him the impulse to vomit. He’s the worst of them all, and out of them all he’s the one who’s doing best – from a certain perspective. _Something_ happened in that engine room, something that isn’t his death but that clearly has to do with it (or its absence.) The Thieves lost their leader, and this affected them on a huge scale, to say the least – _and, good job Goro, you were right! They are lost without a leader, time to celebrate, ahah._

And Goro lost… an ally? Aside from that – which is a heavy ‘that’, a ‘that’ that messes with his heart and rests its weight on him and his responsibilities – but aside from that, Goro still has his powers, his connections. It is still do debate whom between Kurusu and him was the strongest Persona user, but now that Goro’s the only one left, he could stand up to the Thieves, especially if a part of the group is forced out of the game.

But – what he said to the _other_ Thieves and to _this_ Sae and Makoto Niijima is true. His life had been a series of questionable decisions, one after the other. He can’t erase the past nor can he revive the people he’d murdered. And the Thieves have all the right to stay away from him if they wish but – he can try. He can work with Sae and tear Shido down, standing to the – ah, how ironic – right side of justice. And face the inevitable consequences that one day will come.

He washes his face and brushes his teeth. A sharp cry comes from the other room through the wall. He turns off the tap and slowly slips out of the door.

“I know!” the younger Niijima sobs in the distance. “I rationally know it’s not my fault if he died. It’s ok, I get it. And yet. I so, so much wish I managed to save him.”

“I’m sorry, Makoto,” Sae adds in a soft tone, “none of you deserves to live through this.”

“It’s – hard. It hurts. I keep wishing I could go back in time and set things right.”

Oh. _Oh._

 _Go back in time and set things right_.

It’s crazy. There are countless papers, researches, discussions on the internet about the theory of time travel and the soundest ones all state that it’s impossible. Not physically feasible. But – so should be traveling to the subconscious of other people to change them or kill them or drive them psychotic.

The infiltration log on the mysterious app already convinced him, haven’t it? And Sakura Futaba only confirmed it, although indirectly: there has been a – what? – a _shift_ in space. It happened, to him, in his real life. Not in some twisted science fiction novel. And it’s not proper time travel but it’s something. He can work with it. If it happened once, it could happen twice, until further evidence is found.

Sae’s heels clatter on the floor. Goro retreats in the bathroom and grabs the travel kit and the blankets for the night. He comes across Sae in the hallway and wishes her a hesitant goodnight.

Niijima sits at the table with her back turned to him.

“The, uhm,” Goro tries. “You can use the bathroom if you need it.”

Is there any way to go through this at least without the embarrassment?

“Yes, I’ll go,” Niijima stands up and wipes her eyes with a firm movement of her hand. She heads towards the corridor and stops halfway, still avoiding him.

“You’ve done all that for yourself, haven’t you? And look where it took you. We all have shitty families or complicated lives and – Akira got _arrested_ because of your father, you know? His life was practically ruined. But – _to kill_ innocent people, Akechi. I still can’t believe it. And you are almost acting like it’s a huge but common mistake. It’s not.”

She exits the room, leaving him with a metaphorical slap that burns like a real one. The being-alone-silence he so much craved falls on him, mocking at his too tired mind. He should get some proper sleep.

The couch is indeed comfortable to lay on, although the pillows are so soft, he needs to pile two of them to get the feeling of a real one. His mind runs to the events of the day and his proposition; he must clarify the dynamics behind _The Shift_. But if such a thing is even replicable in real life, Goro’s bets are on the Metaverse – which means leaving Sae’s house. He curls under the blankets, his temples pulse and his eyelids slid down. He must find another way.

Hard wood creaks under his weight and pain stings the back of his head and every bone in his body. He wakes in a doorless prison cell, with battered walls and a ceiling so high it vanishes in the dark. He sits up on the wooden board, and his blood runs cold at the striped pattern of his Black Mask outfit. His hands grab the sides of his head and find only hair and his ears.

“Akechi Goro,” a cavernous voice mumbles, “what a twist of fate.”

Outside the cell, in the center of a perfectly round room with numbered jails inset in stone walls and a deep blue velvet carpet embroidered with golden threads, a man in a black suit sits at an old-fashioned desk with a pile of papers, a lamp, an inkwell and an indigo quill on it. His back curves forward in a hump, and the long fingers of his gloved hands intertwine under his chin. A long nose protrudes from between his wide-open eyes, his expression hardened by a tight knot of his dark eyebrows – which sharply contrast with a bald head and white hair that grows longer from behind pointed ears.

“Who are you?” Goro asks, his voice forced firm.

“I am Igor, the master of this place.”

“We are not in the real world, am I correct? Is this the Metaverse?”

“Ah,” he grins, “always so quick at grasping the situation. You are right, but at the same time you are not.”

The man crosses a leg under the table.

“You may call this place the ‘Velvet Room’. It is located in neither reality nor the Metaverse – although, we can say it is part of both.”

Goro’s hand picks at his chin, “Am I dreaming then?”

“Yes,” Igor chuckles in a deep voice. “No one can have access to this place if not summoned – or if said privilege is not granted by me. You, Akechi Goro, have achieved something unbelievable, an unprecedented goal for mankind. You escaped your unlucky fate by causing a shift in time and space. What a pity that your victory has come at the expenses of the one who had already successfully avoided his own ruin.”

A stab right in his chest. “Kurusu.”

The man nods, “I know there was a sort of… open rivalry, between the two of you. But, you see, he was doing an excellent job as the trickster. I fear that now, humanity is truly doomed to its downfall.”

“So he was indeed a special one,” Goro comments in a bitter tone.

“Indeed,” Igor agrees, pensive. “It is a substantial loss.”

“But you didn’t call me here just to mourn him, didn’t you?” Goro faces him with a wry smile. Igor’s eyes half-close, and so his mouth. How in the world did Kurusu deal with him?

“Sharp and straightforward, uh,” he hums. “Very well. Akechi Goro, I want us to forge a deal to prevent the world from facing its ruin.”

A shiver travels through Goro from neck to feet. He makes up his signature amiable smile.

“My life hasn’t been the best showcase of wise decisions and beneficial agreements, I’m afraid. Why should I trust you?”

A piercing glare spears him from side to side.

“You feel like your survival caused his death, do you not?”

Goro’s mouth goes dry, and he fights to steady his hands.

“I’m offering you a chance,” the man continues, “the possibility to undo an accidental mistake. In return, I ask that you save his life, so the world could be saved in turn.”

“And what will be your benefit, then?”

“Uh uh,” Igor laughs, “we could say that the… preservation of the world is the key to my existence. I assisted the trickster in his rehabilitation and witnessed his progresses, his power growths, his social bonds. We worked together to change society on a deeper level – it is unfortunate that it was you the cause of his death. Ironic, even.”

Goro’s teeth linger on his bottom lip. If only people would let him think and figure everything out without guilt tripping him – not that it’s undeserved, but something is missing. Yet, considering the mere give-and-take situation, the offering works: they help each other, they gain something (is Kurusu’s life so valuable, by the way?), mankind will be saved, profit.

“How will everything work if I accept?”

“You may gain access to this place whenever you want, without being limited to your dreams or my calls. You see, I can feel a certain… spark of that power within your soul, so to speak. It is why you are able to remember the events of other worldlines. But a spark is unstable and needs to be further nourished to burn properly. It takes time. I can grant you a privileged starting point, instead.”

Shortcuts, the best way to fall deeper into the pit he’d dug so far. But the term ‘worldline’ – ah.

“You are implying the existence of parallel universes, I suppose?”

“You are again in part right and in part wrong. Don’t think of worldlines as parallel universes in the classic form – they do not live together. Only one exists at a given time.”

So, it’s more like a switch – a lamp can’t be both on and off at the same time. And Goro has become the finger who can press the switch, just… not to his pleasing. Knowing about the structure of spacetime doesn’t mean he can control it – he has to exploit it. Take advantage of the situation to reach something bigger. His mouth twists in a grimace at the familiarity of it.

“If they do not coexist, this means the Velvet Room will… shift with the worldline?”

“Correct.”

How convenient.

Igor’s gaze lingers on him, his intertwined fingers tap on the back of his gloved hands, his crossed leg swings back and forth under the desk, waiting for his reply. Kurusu trusted him – or, at least they collaborated to a certain extent, due to a convenient deal.

 _Time is running out_ , his heart screams, his skin tickled by the same chills a dream approaching an end gives. If he wakes on Sae’s couch, the occasion will be lost, and he will have to figure out another plan, alone and with his every move under strict surveillance – not that he will be all on his own if he accepts, but at least he can gain something from it. It’s the only way to fix at least this one mistake – and the entire world will benefit from it, too, hurray.

“Very well. I accept your offering,” Goro states and shoves back every ‘if’ his mind makes up.

“This truly is a valuable decision for all of humanity,” Igor claps his hands. “May your resolve be guiding you in this mission.”

“How do I make a shift happen?”

“Concentrate your resolve on one thing and only one. Create the scenario you are looking for in your mind, shape cognition to your liking. The moment you act the change, the shift will be triggered.”

Goro closes his eyes, and every doubt in his heart shatter with the warmth that spreads through his boiling blood; a thrilling, high-pitched voice greets him from far, far away, the words too blurred to be grasped.

It’s October 24th, only one of the booth seats of café Leblanc is occupied and he’s chatting with Sojiro Sakura. Kurusu comes in awfully late and even has the guts to be cocky about it. From the tv, Shido’s fake declamations interrupt the conversation, applauded by the middle-aged customer. Goro drinks the last bit of his delicious coffee and breathes deeply.

Kurusu is still on the door, waiting for his move.

“I’d need to talk to you,” Goro says with a kind smile, “privately, if it causes no disturb. I happened to discover something that you might find interesting.”

His heart skips a beat and the room doubles. The blink of an eye, and Kurusu is gesturing to follow him upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have: Akira's pov, Another ChatTM and some genuine Shido-shit-talk.
> 
> Thanks to anyone who's following! Update due in the usual 2/3 weeks!


	4. Akira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On last chapter: Akechi successfully avoids being kicked out of Niijimas house and rewinds time to set things right.
> 
> On this chapter: Akira, and a lot of decision making.
> 
> Surprise! I managed to write this sooner than I expected - quarantine perks, I guess. I really like writing Akira, it's... cozy? He usually makes me write a lot of details about Tokyo and it's always a pleasure to get back there, even if not phisically. But truth be told my favourite pov so far is Akechi. The humor and the (self) deprecating jokes are just too fun.

The Justice arcana is like an itch in the middle of Akira’s nape with his Third Eye active and scanning, Akechi’s gaze burns in his back step by step up the stairs that lead into the attic. Chihaya Mifune doesn’t mention that tarot in reading his cards, as she never does with the Magician nor the Fool – Akira gave up on trying to influence them or work with them in the same way he does with his friends and his other acquaintances. And the progression had been stable, although out of the three of them Akechi had been the less predictable one – regardless of their supposed-to-be fortuitous meetings in Shibuya, their bond deepened at a peculiar pace, more like it was Akechi’s own decision than the result of something Akira did or achieved.

Morgana pops out of his schoolbag and climbs up his shoulder. Akira turns to Akechi, and cat claws dig a bit deeper in his blazer to keep balance.

“Should I leave?” Morgana asks, and his whiskers tickle Akira’s cheek in leaning forward.

“The cat can stay,” Akechi replies instead. Morgana freezes on his shoulder, and Akira’s heart drop to his feet, the answer too precise to be casual. It’s done, he messed up – _the detective caught you_.

The tarot glows above the other boy’s fierce head, floating mid-air and fuzzy. Distorted, although with a flicker that is hard to catch and resembles the blue light of the Velvet Room door Akira can spot in the real world. Akechi slightly tilts his head with a squint of his eyes; Akira lands back in the room and focuses on him.

“I’ll proceed without mincing words,” he states, and extracts his phone from the pocket of his pants, “I know about the Phantom Thieves’ true identities. All of you. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for months, but recently I had the proof I was looking for.”

Akira takes the phone and scrolls through the very last pictures of the gallery, a sequence clearly showing their group in the middle of exiting Okumura’s Palace. He further lowers his chin, and wild strands of black curls fall in his vision. In hindsight, this should have happened at some point – if Makoto busted them when they were only four plus a cat, it was a mere matter of time before someone as clever as Akechi achieved the same with a group of seven people plus a cat. Regardless-

“This happened weeks ago. You didn’t sell us to the police.”

“Precisely,” Akechi’s lips quirk up, the hint of a devilish smirk that is more human than his trademark tv grin and makes Akira’s hand in his pocket itch. It’s out of his usual character but suits him altogether.

“I’m here to ask for your collaboration,” he continues. “There’s currently a scheme going on, it involves both your group and me, although in a more indirect way. If we don’t join forces, we won’t be able to stand a chance.”

Morgana stands even straighter on his right shoulder, as he doesn’t want to jump down and lose direct eye contact. “Hold on a moment,” he says, “if you can hear me talk, then you must have seen me in the Metaverse. But this didn’t happen during Okumura, right?”

Akechi chuckles his practiced laugh. “Correct. I’ve first spotted your group in Mementos – it was before Kaneshiro I believe. Let’s say the PhanSite was getting suspicious, so I wanted to check how those requests were met.”

“You are a Persona user, too,” Akira blurts out, too accusing. Akechi frowns, his princely charm wiped off his face. Shit, he should be more careful. Akechi dictated the pace of their bonding so much Akira couldn’t get accustomed to having a proper conversation with him. He needs to ask Chihaya a few questions.

“I can’t hide I’m a bit surprised at your directness, Kurusu,” he recovers with a light shake of his head. “Yes. I am a Persona user myself. I’ve been one for quite a while, if I must be honest. That’s why your group immediately caught my attention: I knew you were operating in the Metaverse. It was the only logical conclusion.”

“You talked about a scheme,” Morgana urges, “what for?”

“Let me ask another question, first. I received an invitation to take part in the Shujin High’s school festival that is due in the upcoming two days. I take that this is Niijima’s doing to gain some intel from me, isn’t it?”

Akira nods. He better doesn’t forget about Akechi Goro, ace detective true to his name, ever again.

“I imagined something on those lines. So, you must know that, when the police announce they are deploying every means to arrest the Phantom Thieves, they’re being literal. Sae is in charge of the entire operation now, and I assure you, she won’t back off until the duty is fulfilled, at the cost of playing dirty. We… had a strong disagreement on the matter.”

“Makoto told us that much,” Morgana nods. “She said that her sister has been offered a promotion if she succeeds. Both him and his schoolmates have all already been questioned by the police in the Student Council room.”

“Does someone suspect of you?”

“Not likely,” Akira replies. “They’re observing me, at most. But only because of my criminal record. As long as Sojiro doesn’t discover anything, I should be fine.”

“Yes,” Morgana adds, “it’s not like they can prove anything if we act in the Metaverse.”

“Maybe we should have had this conversation with the whole group, after all,” Akechi exhales. He scratches the back of his neck and stretches a smile. “My apologies. I might have rushed this a bit. My point is, Sae won’t stop, no matter the cost. She could probably get to the point of making up a confession if she’s cornered. The situation is very serious.”

Morgana twitches his tail and digs his paws into the shoulder. Akira will have to ask Haru to mend his blazer.

“Why are you doing this? You said you were involved in the scheme as well.”

Akechi goes silent, his eyes shy away from Akira. It’s unnatural.

“Please don’t get this wrong,” the other boy speaks in a quiet tone, measuring every word, “but I’ve been part of that very scheme as well. Until the Okumura accident, at least.”

“What do you mean?” Akira asks.

“You must know by now that your group has been set up to be the scapegoat for the crimes perpetrated by someone other. I partially worked on that – the Medjed case was planned by a team I was part of, and I knew beforehand that the PhanSite ranking had been altered to direct your attention toward Kunikazu Okumura.”

“However,” he continues, voice firmer, “everything was only supposed to get you to uncover your identities. But something was off. I didn’t get why they chose Okumura of all people – his business was skyrocketing, and he was indeed very popular, sure, but that could be said for at least another person in the media scene. I’m talking about a certain politician I’m sure you are aware of.”

“The one that was on tv earlier!” Morgana exclaims.

“Yes, Masayoshi Shido,” Akechi nods, his arms crossed. “So, I dig up a bit, and turns out, Shido himself was the person behind my team the whole time. I had to be extremely cautious in doing my researches, so I didn’t discover much, but I know for a fact that he has close ties to the police, the SIU and the business class as well. Okumura was likely becoming a threat to his political climb, so he ordered his assassination and made everyone think _you_ were the culprits.”

“You knew that this whole time, and-”

“Morgana,” Akira cuts off in his Joker voice. The cat gives up the accusation with a loud hiss. Akechi’s eyebrow shoots up at the interruption, his tarot card still flickering above him with a hint of instability. The conversation isn’t a mere offering, it’s more of a negotiation but lacking the hold-up part that gives Akira the upper hand in the Metaverse.

He shifts his weight from his left leg to the right. If what Akechi is saying is true, they are facing a dead end: there’s no way they can confront both Sae’s task force and an influential politician like Shido at the same time – and, by the way, where has Akira already seen him? It was in that hotel with the buffet with Ryuji, but even before that-

He shakes his head. He shouldn’t wrap his mind around that matter in such a situation.

“I agree with you that we should be having this conversation with the whole group,” Akira tries. “I’ll let them know.”

Akechi unfolds his arms, a sparkle in his russet irises. “Are you intending to accept my offer?”

Akira’s fists clench in the pocket of his pants. He needs more information, and he can’t get them in Morgana’s presence, or without checking what Chihaya might have to say about the Justice. There might also be a chance Igor knows some explanation to the tarot’s sudden change in behavior.

“I’ll think about it. I can’t make this decision alone.”

Akechi nods, and the set of his shoulders gives away a held-back sigh of relief.

“Thank you for your understanding and for listening to me. Given that it’s you we’re talking about, I expect you to come up with a reasonable answer,” he winks. Akira swallows down a huff. Does he ever get tired of playing the charming one all the time?

“How much time do we have?”

Akechi’s fingers run to his chin with a display of thoughtfulness. “I’d say until tomorrow morning before school hour. I should let Niijima know whether I’ll take part in the second-day panel in time, am I right?”

Akira adjusts glasses on his nose, hands humid with sweat. Akechi’s eyes linger on him, his pupils glassy and unfocused; it makes his body shiver from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. His shoulders tremble, and Morgana retreats in his schoolbag with a quick move.

“I should go now,” Akechi awakes with a blink, “it’s getting pretty late even for my standards.”

Akira nods and follows him downstairs.

“You two had some serious chat up there,” Sojiro comments with a cigarette in his mouth. The smoke forms a thin, misty trail in the empty café.

“We apparently have a lot more in common than we thought,” Akechi flashes him a smile and bows a little. “Thanks again for the coffee – delicious, as always. I shall return here soon. Goodnight!”

“See you again,” Sojiro waves a hand toward the closing door. “That kid,” he says in a white puff of his cigarette, “was going on about some real complicated stuff while he was drinking his coffee. He’s prolly a good bit smarter than you, huh…”

Akira shrugs and grabs the crosswords. He sits at one of the booths and presses Morgana aside in the bag to grab a pencil.

“What do we do now?” the cat asks, his nose just above the zipper.

“We wait until Sojiro heads home,” Akira whispers back and spins the pencil between his fingers. Black squares and white spaces mix altogether on the paper before him, and Akechi’s words echo in his mind. Something is missing in his story but contacting him again would raise suspicions.

He searches for his phone and opens the group chat:

_Hey guys_

**Ann:** Akira! What’s happening that you’re writing first?

 **Ryuji:** seriously man

_Please don’t panic  
Excessively, at least  
Akechi knows.  
He talked to me and Mona this late afternoon_

**Makoto:** My god.

 **Ann:** WHAT

 **Ryuji:** you’re kiddin’ us right?

 **Yusuke:** But how did he know?

 **Haru:** This is truly happening at the worst possible moment.

 **Futaba:** That guy’s got some real detective wit, huh?

_Truth be told, we’ve been too reckless in traveling the Metaverse  
It’s been safe while there were four or five of us, and with Futaba we were literally next door  
But a group of teens really must have stood out near the Big Bang Burger headquarters  
I’m sorry everyone._

**Makoto:** You don’t have to, Akira. We all could have thought about this beforehand.

 **Ryuji:** ok but just so we’re clear  
 **Ryuji:** how screwed are we?

_None, if we accept to work with him  
He talked about a scheme  
Seems we really had been set up after all, and he could end up in the plot as well_

**Yusuke:** What will happen if we refuse?

_He didn’t say it, but I guess he might give us away to Sae or the police  
It would make sense  
He didn’t seem to be in a good position himself though  
I wonder what he’s trying to get out of this_

**Ryuji:** man that’s the same as blackmail

 **Ann:** Shit, tomorrow is the first day of the school festival  
 **Ann:** We can’t even properly meet to discuss this

 **Makoto:** Has Akechi told you if he intends to participate in the panel, by the way?

_He mentioned it  
I believe his response will depend on my own response at his offer_

**Ryuji:** can’t believe he’s holding us like this  
 **Ryuji:** this suck

 **Haru:** But what if Akechi is indeed in some trouble?  
 **Haru:** He drastically reduced his tv interviews and he’s being very moderate in his statements

_Yes, well  
He’s a Persona user, too_

**Ryuji:** WHAT THE FUCK

 **Ann:** No way

 **Yusuke:** A peculiar coincidence, indeed.

 **Makoto:** This… kind of makes sense, in hindsight.

 **Futaba:** Yeah, that’s prolly how he spotted us in the first place

 **Haru:** So, maybe we can make him our ally!

 **Ryuji:** Haru are you serious  
 **Ryuji:** ‘cause that sounds like a terrible idea to me

_Mona says he incredibly agrees with Ryuji for once_

**Yusuke:** Truly unbelievable.

 **Makoto:** I’d agree with Mona, too.  
 **Makoto:** But our situation is dire, at best.  
 **Makoto:** We’re the scapegoat of a conspiracy, my sister has her eyes set on us and Ace Detective Akechi Goro knows our identities.  
 **Makoto:** If we have to take a risk, I’d say trusting Akechi is the lesser evil for now.

 **Ann:** I agree with Makoto  
 **Ann:** Akechi’s in the police, too  
 **Ann:** It’s the reason why we wanted intel from him  
 **Ann:** Now we can have them just by asking him

 **Yusuke:** I agree with Ann and Makoto, too.

 **Futaba:** I personally don’t know  
 **Futaba:** Think I’ll do some researches first  
 **Futaba:** But Akira can’t we actually talk?

_Sojiro’s still here  
And I have to do a super urgent trip to Shinjuku this evening  
It’s like – matter of life or death  
There’s something about Akechi that I’m not getting, and I need to talk to a person_

**Ryuji:** your connections scare me sometimes bro

 **Futaba:** Hold on I’ve got this!!

The ringtone of a mobile phone resounds in the room. Sojiro grumbles and picks up the call, recognizes Futaba’s voice and stands straighter. He nods firmly, gives some short replies and hangs up.

“I’m heading home,” he states and reaches for his hat and jacket. “Make sure you close up, and don’t wander around until night.”

Akira replies with a tilt of his head in acknowledgment. The door closes behind Sojiro, and Akira grabs his schoolbag and rushes upstairs. Morgana jumps out, and Akira tosses the bag near the box containing his belongings in favor of his brown leather one and texts on the phone:

_You’re the best Futaba  
I’m sending you Mona right now  
He’ll explain everything in detail while I’m gone_

**Futaba:** Super cool!!!  
 **Futaba:** Can he sleep here?

_Yes  
…  
He says no._

**Futaba:** >:(((

_Sorry, says being my guardian at night while Sojiro’s away is his duty_

**Makoto:** Akira, how much time do we have?

_Until tomorrow morning before school  
But is it ok with everyone if we decide within the next hours?  
This night at most_

**Haru:** That shouldn’t be a problem  
 **Haru:** Besides, we trust your decisions, Akira

 **Ann:** Yes!

 **Makoto:** Ok with me.

 **Yusuke:** Me too.

 **Ryuji:** you guys are unbelievable  
 **Ryuji:** but ok FINE

Akira stretches in his casual clothes and hops down the stairs with Morgana trotting behind him.

“This is dangerous, Akira,” the cat admonishes him. He sighs. “But Makoto is right. Given our situation, this is our best bet. Let’s make sure we will make it count.”

“Thank you,” Akira gives him a quick scratch on the head. “I’ll be back before 10.30pm. Make Futaba spam my phone with messages if I’m not.”

He opens the glass door, turns the sign to ‘closed’ and locks it.

The pulse of Shinjuku’s main boulevard pounds in his ears and shoots sparks of electricity through his body. The lively chattering of people passing by and the flashing lights of neon signs shake his mind awake from the dizziness of the silent train ride. A few western tourists stand out among salarymen and groups of young adults, they tread the sidewalk with their noses tilted up and take shots in rapid sequence with their phones and cameras. The last hit of an American singer resounds from a distant billboard.

Akira breathes in the fresh air of the late evening, adjusts his bag on the right shoulder and shivers at the lightness caused by Morgana’s absence. He walks past the first shops and takes the first turn to the right, his hand out of the jacket pocket to greet Chihaya Mifune sit at her modest stand.

The corner is empty.

 _Shit, it’s Monday_.

Akira passes a hand through his hair and lets out a heavy huff – all the way to Shinjuku for nothing. He turns toward the evanescent blue light of the Velvet Room door, where Caroline taps her foot on the ground, arms crossed on her chest and the usual severe frown on her face. The world around him slows down.

“Do you wish to speak with our master, Inmate?” she asks and place her palms to her hips.

Akira nods, and the girl steps aside. The metal gate opens for him, and Akira wakes up in his prison cell, his wrist cuffed, and his clothes changed with his convict’s outfit. His hands cling to the iron bars, his back and neck stand straight to face Igor.

“How does the rehabilitation proceeds?” the man questions.

“Everything is going well.”

“This is welcome news. I acknowledge your efforts in strengthening your bonds, alongside with your spirit.”

“You shall cherish these words of praise, Inmate,” Caroline hits the cage with her baton.

“Our master is truly generous,” Justine adds with a nod.

“Are you here to perform a ritual,” Igor asks in a knowing tone, “or maybe have you something you wish to speak about?”

“It’s about the Justice arcana,” Akira measures his words, “I thought I had no complete control over it, but now, I feel in some way responsible for it, too.”

“Your allies should be pleased by the care you have nurtured,” Igor replies with a chuckle. He waves a hand in the air, as his doubts are nothing to be worried about. “However, your bonds shall not be influenced by the events of this place. It is your task, and yours alone, to deepen them. If an arcana shows a change in behavior, you should react accordingly – but don’t forget to accurately ponder your actions. You may gain something, as well as you may lose something else.”

“I suggest that you take our master’s wisdom by heart, Inmate,” Justine concludes.

“Do we need to remind you of your next task on the list, Inmate?” Caroline adds.

“Yes, please,” Akira agrees in a mindless tone. He should start to write down the requested Persona they want before going through another Palace and forgetting about the matter – he has little money to spare for the summoning ritual. The twin wardens instruct him about a Neko Shogun with Dekaja, and Igor’s presence vanishes from the room. Akira thanks them and returns to the real world.

The nightlife district welcomes him back with a couple of police officers standing between two drunken men who scream at each other and swing their fist in menacing warnings. Akira strides toward the opposite side of the street, lets dark hair fall on his face and hide his high-school boy features.

The sliding door of the Shinjuku station opens, and the tight knot in his chest loosens. He passes through the gate and checks for the Yamanote train to Shibuya on the departure board. Platform 14.

His phone buzzes violently in his pocket, and Akira prays with all his will it’s not Lala asking him if he’s free for a work shift or Ichiko Ohya requesting his gossips about the Phantom Thieves. But it’s Futaba on the group chat:

 **Futaba:** [voice file]  
 **Futaba:** I recorded Mona while he was explaining everything  
 **Futaba:** Pls listen carefully, it’s important  
 **Futaba:** I also did some research  
 **Futaba:** I’m not hacking anything tho  
 **Futaba:** Yet.

 **Makoto:** Futaba.

 **Futaba:** Point is, Akechi’s whole situation seems a liiiittle bit shady  
 **Futaba:** There’s something wrong with the police, this is for sure  
 **Futaba:** But Akira’s right, something in his explanation is missing  
 **Futaba:** I dunno if he’s not telling the whole truth because he’s not sure if he can trust us  
 **Futaba:** ‘cause that would totally make sense

 **Ann:** Well, what isn’t shady at this point?  
 **Ann:** I mean we’re talking about COSPIRATION

 **Yusuke:** I listened to the message. I agree that there might be more to it than it seems, but I also agree that if what he’s stating is true, there’s not much left to do for us beside trusting him.

 **Makoto:** I believe that, as well.

 **Ryuiji:** this is so infuriating I swear

 **Haru:** I know. It seems we can’t get rid of evil adults trying to exploit the weaker or the innocent ones.

 **Ann:** Right??  
 **Ann:** I’m so done

 **Ryuji:** I still don’t like Akechi but if we can kick some corrupted asses by siding with him, I’m in  
 **Ryuji:** I can’t stand being treated like a fucking criminal anymore

 **Futaba:** Mona suggests that we at least talk to him at this point

 **Yusuke:** Hopefully, this is for the best.

 **Makoto:** Yes.

 **Haru:** Agreed

 **Ann:** Let’s wait for Akira, then

The train approaches the platform, and people waiting in groups form short lines at the two sides of the doors to let the passengers get out. Akira sits in an empty double-seat near the door connecting two carriages. His phone displays a bunch of unread messages on LINE, below the “9.50pm” marked by the clock.

Yoyogi and Harajuku stops pass by out of the window. The familiar skyline of Shibuya takes shape outside, another explosion of colors and flat screens that nonetheless manages to be less threatening and loud than Shinjuku - most of the shops are closed, too, and the area is far less crowded.

The train stops, and Akira hurries to the doors and exits the main station gates. Few people stride past the square outside the station, the Hachiko statue is lonely on its stand without tourists taking selfies with it, and the corner occupied by Toranosuke Yoshida near the old green train wagon is empty, as well. A warm smile finds his way on Akira’s lips at the sight of nighttime, sleepless Shibuya, a place that can be so chaotic and foreign but that has become part of his new life.

He waits for the train to Yongen-Jaya in the second platform of the Teikyu building’s underground level – the display signals about 5 minutes until the next ride. The number of unread messages has increased, including one from Futaba asking him if he’s on his way back to Leblanc.

Akira puts back the phone in his pocket. The general reaction on the group chat has been… reassuring. His friends freaked out less than he’d expected, and Makoto made a blessedly good point about the less risky option. He’d said to Akechi that he couldn’t decide on his own, but in the end, everyone is waiting for his response – he should’ve gotten used to having the final word, shouldn’t he?

He lets his head fall into his shoulders, and his mind scolds him about keeping a proper posture with Sojiro’s chiding voice. The paths open before them are discomforting: they can leave the situation as it is and lay low for a while, or they can intervene in some way. Considering that Sae won’t stop until she has at least one of the culprits, even though she must make up a confession or frame someone innocent, the first option is out of the question. They must act.

The platform is empty except for him and a few other employees who are waiting for the train sitting on the benches on his far-left side.

He opens the Navi-app and spells in a low voice, “Public prosecutor Sae Niijima.”

It’s a hit. He takes a deep breath and adjusts his glasses.

“Aspiring Prime Minister Masayoshi Shido,” he adds with pounding heart.

Another hit. _Obviously._

His mind runs wild – they have two months and few days before the election to steal two treasures. It’s rushed, but they can manage it, and this means he will have to optimize his free time to gather all the resources he can get from his connections and acquaintances. And help Haru on the roof so they can improve the vegetables cultivation. Also, they should visit Mementos to solve open requests and practice their skills and gain money and valuable items. _Holy shit._

Akira bites his lip, his pulse racing. They might even need to do two Palaces at the same time, if Shido is the mind behind Sae’s operation. Is it really a pressure he can force on the team?

Or – what if he confesses? If he turns himself in – no. That wouldn’t solve the problem. If Shido is the kind of criminal who can orchestrate a murder on national television, he likely won’t stop chasing the Phantom Thieves after only the leader gets caught.

Headlights and a screech announce the train’s arrival from the tunnel. Akira startles, tightens his grab on the phone and puts it back in his pocket. Even with the deserted carriage, he clings to a support pole and forces himself to stand on his feet – only two stops until Yongen.

 _‘If we have to take a risk, I’d say trusting Akechi is the lesser evil for now,’_ Makoto said. And there’s no way they can choose to avoid risks. He underestimated Akechi, confident in the Justice arcana’s stability, in its being unaffected by his actions – actions and words that do matter now.

Ikejiri-ōhashi Station. One stop left. He needs to decide.

If he accepts, they’ll have to hurry and face rough times, making every free moment count – he should ask Makoto some help with that. They also will have to cooperate with former Phantom Thieves #1 detractor Akechi Goro, an added responsibility on his shoulder, without knowing his intentions. Avoiding his help as a Persona user is unfeasible, even more with the prospect of two Palaces in a row. He’s likely more skilled and practiced than them if what he said about having possessed his powers for quite a while is true.

If he refuses, their best bet is that someone gets framed in their stead so they can stop reforming society and silently disappear from the public eye. The mere thought makes him sick.

“Yongen-Jaya,” the speaker announces, “this is Yongen-Jaya.”

Time’s up. He steps down the subway and takes the stairs that lead to the backstreets near the café. Morgana waits for him outside the door.

“Have you done what you needed to?” the cat asks.

Akira nods and unlocks Leblanc’s door. Morgana rushes in and tastes Sojiro’s absence by jumping on the counter. His intense light-blue eyes glimmer in the half-darkness.

“You’ve come to a conclusion, I suppose.”

Akira extracts his phone and opens a new chat with Akechi’s contact. What kind of Persona user is he? What are his powers? How will he work with them all?

His lips curve into a smirk. How strong will be the competition between the two of them, even while working together?

 _‘We’ve discussed it and come to an answer. I accept your offering,’_ Akira sends.

“I agreed to the deal,” he states and walks upstairs.

“Having Akechi on our side is the best outcome out of the entire situation, I suppose,” Morgana thinks aloud.

Akira discards his leather bag and steps out of his boots, lays his casual clothes on the back of the desk chair and wears his night shirt and sweatpants. He lets his weight fall on the mattress and breathes in the dusty air of Leblanc’s attic. Morgana jumps on the bed and curls up by his side.

His phone rings with a short sequence of messages:

 **Akechi:** I’m glad you proved to be a reasonable person once more.  
 **Akechi:** I better let Niijima know I will take part in the school festival.  
 **Akechi:** Also, I think we can meet on the 26th before the panel without it being too suspicious.

_Ok  
See you on Wednesday then_

Akira skips all the unread messages of the group chat and types a quick _‘We’re back in business. Let us start a new game.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nex chapter will have: Makoto's pov, intensive infiltration planning and other school festival related shenanigans.
> 
> As usual, thanks to all the people who are following! I got a few very nice comments about my writing/characterization and *sobs*. They made my days.  
> Btw, I 200% intend to update again before Royal comes out in the West. After that, I promise I'll try to stick with the 14-20 days schedule, but in the end I don't know if I'll be able to. Chances that I will hungrily binge the entire game in less than 3 weeks are very high.


	5. Makoto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On last chapter: Akira debates with himself how (un)trustworthy Akechi can be. And he does a sadly useless trip to Shinjuku.
> 
> On this chapter: Makoto -who nearly slaps Akechi again-, a school-council-room interrogation, and some shumako at the end.
> 
> I discovered today that my Royal will arrive one day later than expected. I'm practically mourning. MOURNING, I SAY. So, I rushed the last 550 words or so of this chapter as a coping mechanism.  
> You're probably tired of me thanking Hansei but I HAVE TO. He helps me brainstorming, checks my writing, and swears with me about our mutual Royal struggling waiting.

The sliding door of the student council room closes behind her and Akechi and shuts out the conceited chatter of Shujin students that wander through the decorated corridors of the school festival during lunch break, searching for the classes that organized food stands. The thieves group sits at the table made of joined desks in the middle of the room and greets her with nods and waving hands; only Akira stands lingering against the wooden border, his hands in his pocket as usual. Haru stretches an arm for her schoolbag.

“Are you sure you can leave the festival supervision, Makoto?”

“Yes, I left the vice president and the rest of the school council in charge of everything. As long as I’m supposed to be revising this afternoon panel with our honored guest, no one should come here searching for me.”

“I’m glad to be considered a ‘honored guest’, even though it’s for appearance’s sake,” Akechi comments with a smile.

“Man,” Ryuji growls, “can you at least try not acting like you’re on a tv interview?”

Ann elbows him. “Ryuji please, not now.”

“No, he’s right. We’re all here to talk about business, so let’s act accordingly,” Akechi turns to Akira. “Have you told them everything?”

“Yes.”

“He did, but we all have a few other questions,” Makoto specifies.

Futaba, crouched on her chair, tilts her head up from the smartphone screen. “Yes, like your tides with the police forces and Shido,”

“Or, how and when you discovered your powers,” Yusuke adds.

“ _What_ are even your powers?” Ryuji shouts.

Morgana pops out of Akira’s bag. “And why did you go against us if you knew we had the same knowledge as you about the Metaverse?”

Akira straightens his back, his shoulders tense. Makoto clears her throat as she would do in a heated budget meeting and silence falls on them. The situation needs a systematic approach, or this will end a disaster for both parts.

“Let’s calm down, everyone. One step at a time.”

“Makoto’s right,” Haru backs up, “let’s not overwhelm him. We have our doubts but I’m sure everything will be clear by the end of this chat.”

Akechi chuckles. “I must thank you for your concern, Okumura, but I suppose it is true that my explanation lacked some details. I shall provide what is missing.” His eyes travel between Ryuji and Yusuke. “Regarding my powers, I awakened them long before you all – it was three years ago, I was way younger. I don’t remember how I ended up in the Metaverse, but I do remember the dread that flooded my soul.”

“I feel I can relate to that,” Ryuji comments.

“I didn’t want to die, even if the shadows terrified me. They were all incarnations of various employees belonging to the foster care system – the very system that should have granted me a decent life. I was so furious I thought they deserved to perish, instead. That made it.”

“Yeah,” Futaba lays her chin upon her knees. “It’s always the ones who are supposed to legally care about you. I know about that part.”

Ann wraps long strands of blond curls around her index. “So, you’ve been traveling through the Metaverse for all this time?”

“Yes,” he nods. “However, I did little exploration at first. I was alone and brutally outnumbered, it wouldn’t have been a smart move. Besides, I didn’t even know, at the time, if and how my actions would have an impact on the person’s mind I was wandering through.”

Beside her, Akira shifts his weight on the table, he crosses his ankles one upon the other and wood creaks. His slightly parted lips and lingering gaze on Akechi give away the possible replies his mind must be considering giving. A detail Makoto got accustomed to in discussing future aspirations and Eiko related matters with him.

“You said ‘at the time’,” Akira speaks in the tone he reserves for testing the waters in negotiations.

Akechi’s mouth curls into a smile, a sparkle crosses his pupils, “Yes, correct. I am more… experienced, now.” He lets out that fabricated laugh. “Yet, I didn’t know anything about those… ‘changes of heart’, do you call them? I didn’t know changing a person so drastically was even possible at all.”

Morgana climbs further onto the shoulder and out of the schoolbag. “What did you use the Metaverse for, then?”

“I’d like to say I’m a bit offended by you thinking about me in this way, but I guess it’s obvious even to kindhearted thieves like you how that world could be exploited.” Akechi passes a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “Initially, my trips were mostly limited to stealthy explorations and minor fighting. I learned to use my powers, and some dynamics became clearer. For example: I discovered that what the real person knows and feels affects the cognition, but the same can’t be said for the reverse process. So, I started to talk to them – the weaklings first, and then the more powerful ones.”

“Is that so,” Yusuke mumbles. “Shadows didn’t seem that talkative to us.”

“They weren’t. I made them talk.”

So, even a charming ace detective has his secrets, huh? She should have figured out.

Futaba adjusts her disproportionate glasses. “You’re telling us you basically hacked your cases by gaining intel from shadows? Talks about exploitation.”

“You’re heavily minimizing my efforts in intel gathering,” he crosses his arms to his chest, his chin tilted up. Makoto’s lips and jaw tighten to restrain a giggle. His feathers aren’t only for being put on display, then, they can also get ruffled. Is there a part of him that isn’t fabricated to be admired by everyone, though? Even in a situation this complicated, he can’t let go of his picture-perfect act.

Makoto claps her hands to focus on the point of the conversation. “So, you’ve not only been a Persona user for years, you’ve also always acted on your own, and at a certain point you discovered that gaining useful information could have led you somewhere. But the question now is, how did you even enter the police investigation team?”

“Very observant. I would have expected no less,” he laughs. “One of the last family I stayed by before moving to the metropolitan area of Tokyo was taking part in a pyramid scheme fraud. Through the… ‘Palace’ of their contact in our district, I gained valuable information about the whole organization and many other names. Given how deep their claws were on various neighborhoods, finding some tangible proof was easy.”

He adjusts his leather gloves. “Then, I became a valuable witness. I think the man supervising the operation took a liking for me. It surely had been a nice help in approaching Tokyo police.”

“So,” Ryuji gestures, “you made it with connections.”

“And, because I’m a _wunderkind_ ,” Akechi winks.

“A what?” he shouts.

Haru hides her tittering behind a hand. Akira blinks, and Morgana leans forward on his shoulder, “I remember this from your classes! It was the English teacher, wasn’t it?”

“Anyway,” Makoto clears her voice, “you sure made a noticeable career, participating in the team set to catch the Phantom Thieves at barely eighteen.”

“It’s not like I haven’t worked hard in these past years, you know,” he retorts.

“Talking about that,” Futaba taps her knee with a finger, “I did some researches on my own and it seems you were right about the police. Something isn’t right. There are big discussions about shady cases and corrupted chiefs on the net.”

“Also,” Morgana adds, “your timing seems very convenient given our situation.”

Akechi frowns. “Isn’t that the point? I came to you because your reputation is nearly ruined, but for the wrong reason. You risk getting arrested for real this time. I, too, am in danger of being framed to erase possible witnesses. It’s supposed to be the goal of our agreement to prevent that.”

“But why now?” Makoto takes a step forward. “You’ve been on this case since before I joined the group. You’ve always knew we were using the Metaverse. You confirmed our identities weeks ago but didn’t sell us even if it was the most logical thing to do. Are you trying to blackmail us?”

Leather creaks from his hands. “You can see it as blackmail, if you wish. As far as I’m concerned, this is a deal between two sides that will both have their own benefits.”

“One’d think your ‘connections’ would help ya,” Ryuji spits.

“I’m not that irreplaceable, I assure you.”

“Good job making everyone thinkin’ otherwise.”

Ann stands up. “What we are trying to understand is: why should we trust you? You’ve been chasing us and slandering us for months.”

“I still have my opinions on your doing,” Akechi’s russet eyes pierce everyone in the room, cat included. “Regardless, I believe that trusting me is your best option at the moment. I’m sure you’ve thought about this.” His gaze challenges Makoto to say otherwise. They are at his mercy, as they’ve been all the time. He can talk about offers and deals, but there’s no bridging the gap in power of this negotiation. Heart pounds in her chest, her blood screams what her mouth cannot: they have no control over him or his actions, no matter how his affable façade pretends their troubles can be compared.

Akira leaves the table and comes beside her. “We have,” he confronts him with the calm of a leader.

Makoto takes a breath. “We didn’t want to turn the discussion in a fight, but there are things we need to know. Because you mentioned politicians, the SIU and even my sister, and I know you are a person reasonable enough to know that stakes are very high. Our cooperation must start from exchanging what we know – how are we supposed to face those enemies otherwise?”

“Very well,” Akechi tugs at his gloves. “I’ll explain the delicate situation within the police forces more in dept, but I also ask that we move forward and come to an agreement before the panel start. We won’t have the occasion to resume this subject matter in the future.”

“Stop fucking ordering-”

“Ryuji,” Haru stretches a smile on her sweet face. “Akechi is right, we discussed about this and decided to talk to him regardless. We gave our word. I have questions to ask him myself, but it’s not nice arguing like this, and we even risk that someone overhears us.”

“Damn it,” he mutters and slams a fist on his leg in response; silence falls on the room.

“I think you can go on with what you were saying,” Ann gestures with a crack in her voice.

Akechi leans against the wall next to the door, arms crossed and eyes sharp. “I’m usually skeptical about online rumors but truth be told, this time they are right. It is true that in these past months there has been a series of cases closed with… unorthodox methods, so to speak. Especially involving the SIU, but not limited to them. There was also a discreet coming and going of people, I don’t know if Sae mentioned this to you.”

“No,” Makoto shakes her head, “she didn’t use to talk much about work when she was home. Needless to say, she completely stopped mentioning work at all since she got this case.”

“Regardless, the point is, the entire police are after you, but police themselves cannot be trusted. I’m starting to think there are infiltrations going on.”

“This is why you’re coming to us,” Yusuke thinks aloud with a hand on his chin.

“Yes – partially. As I’ve said, Sae is now supervising this case. The team I was part of… let’s say it has been disbanded. We ought to follow Sae’s direction, but she and I had a strong disagreement upon how to proceed with the investigation. The SIU put her under a lot of pressure, so the only thing she can do now is achieving a success, no matter what it will cost.”

Makoto swallows the knot in her throat. “Yes. She mentioned a promotion and said that in adult life failure it’s not an option.”

“So likely of her,” he lowers his head. His eyes return to Makoto. “I don’t mean to scare you, but I think Sae’s heart needs to be changed.”

She flattens the wrinkles on her skirt with sweaty palms. Of all people that could bring this up, it had to be him. His stare makes her hands itch for a red smack on the flawless skin of his face. She clenches fists and breathes in – she shouldn’t let personal business influence the situation, instable as it is.

“I already knew that. In fact, that is the one reason why I joined the Phantom Thieves.”

Ann covers her mouth with her hands. “You never told us…”

“It was too personal of a reason. Besides, there were more urgent matters. I just hoped it wouldn’t be necessary in the end, but I suppose it was too naïve of me.”

“Your sister has a Palace,” Akira adjusts his glasses with a quick move, “I checked on the Nav two days ago.”

Ryuji stretches his arms up above and rests his head against his palms. “It looks like we have our next target, huh?”

Ann and Haru fire him a glare.

“If – if that’s ok with Makoto, obviously.”

“It’s all right,” she forces the words out of her lips, “I already prepared for this outcome. Also, from a practical standpoint, it’s the safest thing for us to do. If she comes to her senses, she’ll understand that the methods she’s using aren’t just, and this will buy us time to hit the real person who’s behind all this.”

“Speaking of which,” Haru stands up from her chair, brows knotted and fingers laced together. “Akechi, Mona told us you said a man could be the instigator behind my father’s murder.”

Akechi’s his lips thin, his face pale, and his back leans more into the wall. “Yes. Go on.”

“You specifically named Masayoshi Shido, the aspiring prime minister. I didn’t know my father had tides with him, but this isn’t important now. I’m aware that my father committed many mistakes and even ruined lives – he wasn’t a good person.” Her voice cracks and her shoulders tremble, but her chin stays up. “But he didn’t deserve to die, either. If there’s something I can do to do him justice, I will.”

“Please mind that the situation isn’t completely clear and I’m talking about hypotheticals-”

“But,” Futaba interrupts, “you wouldn’t talk at all if you weren’t at least a bit sure of what you were saying, right Mr. detective?”

“Yes, you’re right,” he nervously chuckles. “It was to say that I did my researches and that’s why I didn’t disclose your identities, yet I have no universal truth to offer. My team as well underwent some… changes. It seemed a minor shift at first, but things escalated fast enough. It went from pushing you to expose yourselves to directly trying to blame you for all the troubles and scandals happened these past months. So, I did my part but started to work more independently and – I decided I was done when I saw the news on October 11th.”

Yusuke shifts on his seat. “Is it really possible that none of you knew what was going to happen?”

“I cannot say no one knew, but the majority of us didn’t,” his eyes shy away from them. “Maybe I’m in part responsible, anyway.”

Makoto shivers. Her mouth opens but every sound is struck in her throat.

He shakes his head. “Back with your question, Okumura. Yes, Shido was in some way connected with your father – although, I am unsure about how. It took me enough risks to gain this much information. But, and you all might find this interesting, I discovered Shido himself possesses one of those Palaces.”

Akira nods, his eyes locked on Akechi. Did he verified that, too, the other day?

“Figures,” Ryuji spits.

“We shall proceed with extreme caution,” Yusuke states.

“If we want to proceed at all,” Ann half-jokes. “But I take that we’re settled?”

They should be, they agreed on that. She scratches her left forearm where goosebumps prickle against the fabric of her white turtleneck. Akechi hasn’t done them harm or proved to be untrustworthy… but there’s nothing assuring them he’s worth the trust, either. 

“Well,” Morgana jumps out of the bag, “we’ve already discussed it, haven’t we?”

The clock hanging from the wall marks 1.30pm – in forty minutes this meeting needs to be over or they will be late for the panel. She bites her lower lip, there are too much new information to consider; they have been reckless and short-sighted, they could use another day to think things through. But Akechi is right, finding another chance to discuss Metaverse matters won’t be easy nor safe.

“We agreed on at least talking to him,” Futaba points out.

“I believe,” Yusuke leans forward on the table, “that everyone was already at peace with accepting to work with him. I see no sense in retreating now.”

Makoto inhales a deep breath.

“You’re right. I reinforce my comment of last evening, trusting Akechi and teaming with him is our safest option right now.”

He steps away from the wall and faces her and Akira. “This is a deal, then.”

“Deal,” Akira stretches a hand and shakes the other.

Her mouth goes dry, the hunch she swallows knot at the pit of her stomach instead. _This is for the best, you had no other choices_.

Akira casts a glance in her direction, and Makoto shakes her head with a quick move. Time is running out and they can’t afford any more hesitation – mistakes have been made and decisions have been taken, they need to move forward and plan their next action. She separates three folding chairs from the pile stocked in the far-right angle of the room and adds extra seats to the student council’s meeting table.

“All right. Let’s talk about the infiltration – we have thirty minutes starting from now.”

Yusuke taps the wood with his long fingers. “May I have a pencil and some papers?”

“Sure – Ann, the stationery is in a white box on the shelf right behind you.”

“Found it!” she places a cardboard box in the middle of the table.

Makoto wets her lips. “Ok, so – we have not one, but two targets this time. The most straightforward approach would be handling them at the same time, but this implies a physical effort and an amount of danger I don’t think we can sustain.”

“Why don’t we go straight for that Shido politician then?” Ryuji swings his chair.

Akechi frowns. “How much time does it take you to steal a heart, normally?”

“Ten days, at best,” Akira replies.

“Three weeks at worst,” Makoto sighs. “Haru’s dad Palace has been a nightmare from start to end.”

“Plus,” Futaba supplies, “we don’t enter a Palace every single day. We often have to buy weapons and gears or strengthen our skills – it’s Akira who plans for all that stuff.”

Akira shrugs and twists a strand of his thick fringe between his thumb and index.

“And what part does the… ‘calling card’ have in this process?”

“Let me explain that,” Morgana sits near the box. “The cognitive version of one’s mind in the Metaverse – we call them ‘Palaces’ as you might’ve noticed. They are born from the deepest and most twisted desires. What we do is stealing those desires, so that a person can change after losing his most rotten impulses. To do so, we must make them materialize, first. This is what the calling card is for: once a person is called out, their cognitive shadow will be on the highest level of alert, and thus their desires take the form of a tangible object – the treasures we steal.”

“This truly is fascinating. I get it now why you all talk about reforming society. I don’t think I would have ever discovered something this articulated on my own.”

“Cool, huh?” Ryuji flashes him a grin.

“Anyway,” Makoto grabs a pen and a piece of paper, “as you can see, it’s not a simple process. We must secure an infiltration route first – and this usually means exploring every corner of the Palace to exploit less monitored corners and safe rooms. Only after finding the innermost spot of the Palace, where the treasure is guarded, we can send the calling card to the person. After that, we have a day to act. If we don’t complete our mission, the treasure is lost forever.”

She sketches a rough calendar of the upcoming months and circles the date 12/20. “Elections are due in less than two months. If we aim for Shido, we must make sure he’s out of the game before this day. It’s far more time than what we usually have. However-”

“However, you don’t trust us to take Shido down before Sae arrest you,” Akechi nods with a gloved hand on his chin. “Or worse, before she frames someone innocent.”

Blood freezes in her veins. She forces her mouth to smile. “Yes, precisely. This is why I think we should target my sister first, regardless of Shido.”

Ann crosses her legs and swings her right foot. “But how do we make sure your sister doesn’t talk about the calling card with her supervisors?”

“We block her devices,” Futaba smirks.

Every head turns to her.

“What? We already hacked her laptop to gain information about Haru’s father, I don’t think bugging her phone and work pc will be a big deal.”

“I don’t know,” she traces nonsensical shapes on the paper, “it’s a lot to ask of me. Sis already completely stopped coming home for dinner, and she doesn’t bring her laptop with her anymore.”

“I think I can help with that,” Akechi intervenes. His eyes run to Futaba. “What will I have to do?”

Her lips curl upward as she’s just found a rare action figure to add to her collection. “Nothing too complicated, I swear. It will be super easy with your chatting and your pretty face. You’ll have to enter Sae Niijima’s office and plug a USB in both her laptop and computer, if she has one. I already have a complete backup of her HD, so I will be super stealthy.”

“And for her phone?”

“If we’re lucky, her phone and laptop are already connected. If we’re not, either you or Makoto must find a way to bug that, too.”

“But what if she physically spread the news?” Haru clenches her fists in her lap.

“Yeah,” Ann twists her lips, “I don’t think we can, like, tie her to a chair or poison her.”

“She’s also more at her office than she’s at home,” Makoto sighs. “I’ll see if I can work something out about that.”

“Are you planning to use a weekend?” Akechi asks.

“Precisely. Maybe I can at least convince her to have a proper breakfast if it’s Sunday. This will buy us time.”

“For what,” Ryuji’s eyes open wide, “locking her in or somethin’?”

She nods with a short cough.

“Shit Makoto, you really scare me sometimes.”

“It’s for her own safety. Someone has to stop her from ruining hers or someone other’s life, or both.”

Morgana scratches his ear and licks a paw. “What about the deadline?”

“I was thinking about November 20th. It’s slightly less than a month from today.”

“It’s too late,” Akechi blurts out. His shoulders start, he freezes. “My apologies,” he shakes his head, “I didn’t mean to sound that rude. I’m only concerned that if we have two targets to take care of, a month will put us all at risk. Sae will likely become more and more aggressive in her approach as time passes.”

Yusuke tilts his head up from his sketches. “So, are you suggesting we should act on 13th?”

“Yes. I think this is for the best.”

Ann lays her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her palms. Her eyes run to Makoto. “Do you think we can manage it? It’s a little more than two weeks.”

She adjusts strands of hair behind her ears. “I don’t know. That spaceport really gave us a rough time, and spotting weaknesses on different robot-shadows every time has been exhausting. But it is true that Haru’s progresses have been amazingly quick.”

“And we will have another addition to the team,” she gestures Akechi.

“Akira,” Makoto turns, “what do you say?”

“What are your powers?”

Akechi shifts on his seat. “They consist mostly of Bless spells, but melee attacks won’t be a problem, either.”

Akira’s gray eyes glimmer behind thick frames. “Great. I think we can manage it, then.”

“We were totally lackin’ the Bless guy,” Ryuji smacks a hand against the wooden desk. He indicates Akira with his thumb. “This guy’s been covering it for a while, but he changes masks so often in battle, you never really know what he’s wearin’.”

Akechi leans forward on the table with a smile. “You can use more than one Persona? You are indeed a special one.”

“I’m going to work at the code,” Futaba jumps off her chair and stretches. “But only after enjoying the last bit of this festival. Is there some less crowded food stand I can go to?”

“I didn’t think you would want to stay,” Haru giggles. “I’ll be glad to come with you.”

Yusuke gathers his papers and puts back the pencil. “When are we meeting?”

“Tomorrow,” Morgana jumps back in the bag. “We’ll figure out the keywords and test the first areas of the Palace to better plan our infiltration.”

“I’ll let everyone know where and when to meet,” Akira adds.

Makoto picks up her own schoolbag. “So, we’re done for today - two minutes earlier, no less. Akechi, please follow me. I’ll show you the way to the auditorium for the panel.”

“Thank you very much. To all of you,” he bows, “I’m glad we managed to work together.”

“Meeting adjourned!” Ann cheers and leads the group out.

Makoto slides the door and locks the empty room. The idle chitchat of Shujin students floods her ears, her forehead pounds at the prospect of presenting a two-hour panel in front of most of the school, with the person she restrained herself from slapping in the face. Even the double date Eiko insisted on would be a brighter option.

“Makoto?” Akira’s low voice checks on her, his hands hidden in his pockets, and the tiny line of his eyebrows that isn’t covered with thick black hair knotted near the bridge of his nose.

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” she waves a hand, “I’m just tired.”

He breaths in and stays quiet, his lips slightly parted. His gray pupils lock on hers.

“Whatever it is that you’re thinking,” she giggles, “you can ask me. I’ll help if I can.”

“I’d need a hand with planning.” The guilty biting of his lower lip compensates the lack of a _‘you don’t have to if you’re tired’_ that no one should expect from Akira Kurusu.

She reaches Akechi’s side and gestures him to follow. “No problem with me. But you’ll help me with the panel, first,” she grins.

Akira blinks, standing in the middle of the corridor, and strides towards them.

“Ok.”

“I want to go with Futaba and Haru, then!” Morgana protests from the bag.

Akechi points the 2-2 classroom. “I think they went that way.”

“Oh my god,” a first-year girl stops by with her phone out. “You’re Akechi Goro! I was afraid I was already late for your panel, but it seems this is my lucky day.”

“Technically, you can’t be late if you arrive before the guest,” he winks, and steps in front of her.

“Morgana,” Makoto whispers near the bag, “if you want to retreat, this is the moment.”

The cat puts out his head and scans the surroundings. “Let them know I’m coming,” he jumps off and runs hiding beneath a series of lockers.

“Excuse me,” she dismisses the girl, “but we absolutely have to hurry. We can’t keep your schoolmates waiting, after all.”

She pulls at Akira’s blazer’s sleeve to make her point and blocks her other hand just a few inches away from Akechi’s own jacket.

* * *

The heavy emergency door of the rooftop creaks, and cold wind muddles up her hair. Her body shivers and her fingertips’ exposed skin protests, but the fresh air of late afternoon soothes the headache and breathes life again in her veins.

Akira crouches near the bigger vases of Haru’s vegetable cultivation, his messy locks dance on his head moving left and right.

“How are they doing?”

“Fine, but they’re not growing faster,” he stands up and adjusts his glasses. “I’ll have to check with Haru the composition of the new fertilizer.”

“How’s Haru doing, too?”

Akira scratches his neck. “She’s managing, but she’s got a lot on her mind, lately.”

Makoto nods. Of all people, she’s the last one who can afford to whine or let her worries slip – personal matters must stay so. Circumstances allow no error, and she should be the first one to keep that in mind, learning by the mistakes they’ve made and being a guidance in and out of the Metaverse.

“What can I help you with, Akira?”

“You sound like Sojiro,” he teases.

“Don’t mock me,” she huffs. “You talked about planning?”

“Yeah,” he plays with his hair, “I need to optimize the schedule. Write it down on some papers, or I might forget something.”

She joins two abandoned desks together and Akira picks up two chipped wooden chairs from the pile. He provides some papers and a case.

“First thing first,” Makoto fumbles for a pen, “what do we need to do?”

“Update our equipment. And, test it in Mementos, since we have a long list of backlog requests.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” she lines a proper calendar on the sheet and blackens the slot occupied by school lessons.

“Of course,” he jokes, and her cheeks heat up. He taps on his jaw, his gaze unfocused. “That will do good to our pocket money, too. Thinking about it, I should go to the airsoft shop once we’re finished.”

“Remember we all had a though day. Is there something else you can do in Yongen, instead?”

“Well, we’ll need to buy new medications. And, I suppose I should prepare more coffee and curry – oh, and lockpicks, too.”

“Maybe I should’ve asked this before, but how you even learned how to make a lockpick?”

He puts his index on his lips. “Thief secret.”

“Probably Morgana taught you so. It would make sense. How much time do you need to do all these things?”

“Uhm,” he rests his chin on his hand, “I think I can delegate the coffee and curry making and gain some time. So I can focus on lockpicks and other tools.”

Makoto’s eyebrow shoots up. “Is Sojiro helping you out?”

“He would never. I have someone other to ask to, though.”

“I’m very sure I don’t want to know more than this. Anything else?”

“I’ll need some free afternoons to help Haru with the vegetables. When should we go to Mementos?”

“Before the end of this week. We’ll find the keywords and enter the Palace tomorrow, after that we can solve the open requests and make use of the gained experience.”

Half of the squares marking each day of the coming weeks from Monday to Saturday are filled with classes. ‘Palace’, ‘Mementos’, ‘crafting’ and other indications are compressed into the remaining spaces, with arrows signaling side notes and question marks where the activity is left undefined. Her stomach clenches at those question marks. She hands the paper sheet to Akira.

“You’re free to add what you need,” she stretches a smile.

“Thanks Makoto, you saved me,” he admires the calendar. His eyes run back up, to hers. “Do you feel any better now?”

Her breath hitches. “That was supposed to help you, not me,” she sighs. He folds the paper in two and secures it inside a notebook in his bag.

“It did.”

Everyone praised her for being observant, but how didn’t they notice how sharp was Akira’s wit when it came to the unspoken and the implied?

“I’m glad. And – yes, maybe I needed it, too.”

“I know that…. Before, it has been a lot of information. We should’ve had more time to figure things out.”

“We hadn’t, though. We were to blame for acting so lighthearted and reckless, but we ended up in a situation much bigger than us. We definitely can’t go through this without Akechi.”

He crosses his leg under the desk. “I know you still don’t trust him. I’m sorry if I forced this upon you, or the group but – thank you for being the reasoning voice once again.”

She smooths the wrinkles on the checkered skirt and folds her arms in her lap. The shivers up and down her spine, the jumps of her heart in her chest – they’re only a hunch. No facts, no proof, only a bunch of physical sensations she can’t work on. Same as with Eiko’s supposed boyfriend.

“Well, we don’t have a specific reason _not_ to trust him. Aside from him being our first public detractor, I mean.”

“His explanation is lacking something. I noticed it while he was speaking – he’s acted pleasant during certain parts of the conversation, but he got very defensive when we touched Shido and the police forces.”

Makoto breathes in. “Go on.”

“I mean, he was very accommodating in telling us things that, in the end, aren’t properly _useful_. Why should we care about how he got his powers? I mean, yes, we care, but given our situation it isn’t something to talk about that much. Instead, he answered every question we asked without a word of protest and with great details – except the ones that clearly regarded information he wasn’t comfortable sharing.”

“Like when you pointed out the ‘at the time’,” she blinks.

“Precisely.”

She clenches her fists. “How do you do that?”

“Do… what?”

“I didn’t notice half the things you’re telling me. Or, well, yes, I noticed _something,_ but it was more a sort of… general discomfort.”

He lights up. “Oh, like with Eiko’s so-called boyfriend?”

“Please go out of my head,” she presses a hand on her face.

“I know you need proofs,” he laughs, “but you should try trusting your instinct more.”

“It’s easy for you, you’re a natural at this.”

“But I can’t arrange a proper, efficient schedule,” he grins and stands up. His hand runs to his fringe. “Talking about Eiko… let me know if you want to confirm that double date thing.”

She frowns. “I don’t think this is the best moment to approach that problem, too.”

“It’s called multitasking,” he specifies with his finger up, “and besides, I know I can fit it into the program, too.”

Makoto stands up, her face hot. “Are you this eager to pretend to be my boyfriend?” she swallows down the lump in her throat, forces her voice firm and light.

“What if I am?”

 _Why pretending then?_ She bites the inner side of her mouth and buries that thought deep down – it’s the worst possible timing to indulge in such things.

Akira lowers his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t joke about this.”

She grabs the handle of the emergency door, her knuckles white. She breathes in, her shoulders burn under his gaze. “It would be appreciated. But – sorry. Don’t feel obliged to accept. We have other things on our mind now.”

“See it as my way to thank you for the help, then.”

She walks down the first steps. She stops. “It’s just that – I’m worried. We can’t fail this time, more than any other in the past. And I’m afraid something bad will happen.”

He stands on top of the stairs, exacerbating their height difference. “Me too,” he whispers.

Makoto opens her mouth, her mind blank, the knot she fought against so hard during the day back in her throat.

Akira’s phone rings, he picks up the call with a blink of his eyes.

“Futaba?”

Makoto’s blood runs cold at how light his tone is.

“Yes, we’ve just finished. Ok. See you there.”

He puts back the phone in his pocket. “Futaba, Haru and Mona wait for us at the school gate.”

“Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”

She takes a deep breath. “And thank you for the chat. The calendar helped me a bit, too.”

Akira nods, a smile unfolds on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nex chapter will have: Akechi, and a hella lot of Palace shenanigans.
> 
> I can't believe this chapter is like 6k+ words long and more than half of it is Akechi telling bullshit THAT WAS A PAIN TO WRITE. I'm. With no energies left after all those dialogues.
> 
> Thanks to all the people who're following ^_^  
> If my Royal do arrive in the end, expect and update in... 20 days, I'd say? I'll do my best not to stop for a month, lol


	6. Goro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On last chapter: Makoto doubts Akechi's good intentions but goes on anyway because the situation requires it. Also, Akira teases her.
> 
> On this chapter: unpredicted curry talk, the final part of Sae's Palace, and a disastrous escape.
> 
> Welcome back and sorry fore the one-month hiatus! Between Royal and an injured finger (I......did stupid things while styling a wig.......) I wasn't able to type on a keyboard that much, but now I'm back!! With more pain!! Because Royal pain wasn't enough!! Yay!!  
> (Also be reminded that this fic contains only P5 vanilla spoilers and sticks to that canon, there's no Royal here, we create almost all the angst from scratch and crazy crossovers)

The golden and thick haze of Sae’s treasure flickers on top of the marble pedestal, and no shape, however blurred, floats half-hidden by the light. A knot untangles in Goro’s throat.

“So, this is the treasure.”

“Yeah,” Mona crosses his cat-arms, “our route is secure. Our job for today ends here.”

“We only need to send the calling card now, correct?”

“You catch up fast.”

Queen steps forward. “Leave that to me. I’ll do as we’ve discussed.”

“Sorry to put this weight on your shoulder,” Panther chews on her bottom lip.

“No need to worry. I was prepared from the start. We need to succeed this time, even more than ever before.”

“Man,” Skull groans, “I sure heard this freaking line too many times by now.”

Noir claps her hands, “Regardless, we did a great job.”

“I must admit,” Fox stretches his neck, “that this infiltration in particular has proceeded very smoothly. You sure have played a big part in this, Crow. You have our gratitude.”

Oracle shakes her head. “Shut up Inari.” She lifts her goggles up on her head, and her sharp eyes, circled by soft red marks and sweat, pierce Goro from side to side. She exhales. “But yeah, I could tell that this has been easier for you all. Guess Mr. Detective here is a veteran true to his name. GG Crow.”

“I’m glad I was able to help you,” he smiles. His skin itches under shiny white attire, and his hand waves off the compliments, unfair as praising someone for cheating in a videogame. “So, what now? Do we head back?”

Mona nods. “That would be for the best. We need to rest for tomorrow. Joker?”

Joker blinks, his gaze runs from Mona to Goro and back to Mona.

“We’re heading out. Let’s go back to the real world.”

The app infiltration log gets updated, the metallic female voice announces their latest progress. The Metaverse dissolves and gives them back to reality. The chill of a mid-November late afternoon makes everyone shiver and condenses their breaths in white clouds. In delayed pairs, they leave from outside the courthouse and regroup at the staircase leading to the subway, ready to part ways for the day.

Morgana pops out of Kurusu’s bag and speaks from his shoulder. “We’ll strike tomorrow morning. Be sure to eat and sleep well. Ryuji, you better make use of your phone’s alarm.”

“What the eff cat,” he snorts. “It’s not like Akira does any better on Sundays.”

“I’ll make sure he wakes up. I can’t do the same for you.”

“You little-”

Takamaki smacks his arm. “I think we’re done here. Let’s go home and see you tomorrow!”

Everyone waves their goodbyes and heads to different platforms.

“Akechi?” Kurusu calls him from above the stairs. “Are you free right now?”

“You don’t even excuse yourself for the hour?” he chuckles. “Yes, I don’t have plans for the evening. Why do you ask?”

“I’d like to ask you something,” Kurusu hides his hands in the pockets, eyes firm. “And a subway station isn’t the best place to talk about it.”

“As long as it’s not some sort of love confession,” he squeezes his temples and shakes his head.

Kurusu walks past him, chin held up and lips curled. “I don’t possibly know what could’ve made you think of something like that.”

_Insufferable._

Morgana whispers something in his ear and his shoulders jolt from the fur and whiskers tickling the exposed skin of his neck and cheek. How is it possible that no one in his school noticed a cat this loud and this nosy?

In the backstreet of Yongen-Jaya, the cat jumps out of the bag, casts him an inquiring look and disappears between the buildings. Leblanc’s glass door swings open, its sign still displays ‘open’ despite the late hour; the bell rings announcing their presence, and Sojiro Sakura welcomes them with a cigarette in his mouth and his right eyebrow raised up on his wide forehead.

“You’re late. I already closed the register.”

Kurusu’s hand runs to the back of his neck. “Sorry for that.”

Sojiro sighs and tilts his head towards the kitchen. “There’s some leftover curry in the fridge, so you don’t have to cook. I think it’ll be enough for the two of you.”

“I believe,” Goro coughs, “that a cup of coffee will be just fine.”

“No need,” Kurusu puts down his bag, unbutton the Shujin blazer and lets the suspenders fall from his shoulders to his side. He reaches for an apron and ties the laces behind his back. “It’s already dinner hour and it will be even later when we’re finished. Take it as a thank you? The coffee’s on me.”

“Alright then. Thank you,” he says and takes place on the middle booth seat. Kurusu brews the coffee under Sakura’s severe gaze, although the man does nothing more than nod and mumble with a hand scratching his chin. It is not common for him to be this firm in matters that lie outside of the Thieves chores and coordination – unless this has something to do with today’s infiltration. Goro frowns. If that is the case, the supposed chat could as well turn into another negotiation.

“Go sit,” Sakura gestures, “I’ll serve the curry for you.”

Kurusu nods and places two cups of steaming hot coffee on the table, pitch black in color and bitter by just the scent. His gloved hands close around the white ceramic, tight at the point of leather creaking – he refrains from rubbing away the burning in his eyes.

Sakura hands them the plates and adjusts the white trilby on his head. “Enjoy the food, you two. And you,” he points at Kurusu, “make sure to close up shop. No midnight parties.”

Kurusu shakes his head, his lips parted with the hint of a smile; his eyes follow the man walking to the door. The two of them must have gotten relatively close at this point. Goro swallows down the lump and waves a hand in his direction.

“Thank you again for your kind hospitality, Mr. Sakura.”

The bell rings and Kurusu’s expression turns serious. He spoons a portion of curry and rice, observes the steam raising in the air that fogs part of his glasses and his teeth linger on his bottom lip. Goro’s stomach protests, and he spoons the curry himself and tastes the spiced sweetness and the viscous texture of Leblanc’s signature dish – way better than the improvised dinner he had at the Niijimas at least.

Kurusu eats his own bite. “It may sound a stupid question.”

“I wouldn’t expect such questions coming from you,” Goro’s brows furrow. “Please, go on.”

“Have you already been infiltrating Sae’s Palace?”

He covers the shiver of his body with a laugh. “I’m flattered that you think so, really.”

“That’s not a no though.”

“Would it make that big of a difference if I’ve been? It’s not that I would have been able to proceed much further alone if that was the case.”

“Is that so?” Kurusu toys with his food and takes another bite.

“I’m glad you have such a high estimation of my skill,” he makes up a smile that doesn’t last. The strong taste of scalding coffee burns down his throat and dissipates the haze in his head. Kurusu’s grey eyes linger on him, darkened by the shadow cast by his thick fringe. “If it were you playing dumb like this, I would find it utterly irritating, so pardon me if I drop the formalities for once. I’ll be blunt: yes, I’ve been to Sae’s Palace before but no, I won’t speak about it more than this. You don’t need to know that part of the story in order to proceed in changing her heart.”

Kurusu nods. “It’s just that… the confidence you tried to hide couldn’t be explained only by you being a Persona user longer than us. It was more like nothing in that Palace could really take you by surprise.”

The pit of his stomach twists, he swallows down the next spoon to shut it. “Always so perceptive,” he chuckles. “But this doesn’t change anything, does it? We’ve made a deal.”

“Yes,” another bite, “I won’t say a word about this to the others.”

“Neither to the cat?”

The coffee tastes like fire in his dried mouth, does no better job to soothe it.

Kurusu sets down his spoon. “No. I know our interests overlap for the time being, that should be enough.”

“I’ll stay true to my word,” he says, tongue heavy and heart heavier. This time there will be no need for betrayal and duplicity.

Another nod, and they turn their attention back to the dinner. His body screams to stop, but he forces himself to eat and saves the coffee for last. Kurusu seems the type who would be insane enough to believe his story without a proof – or at least accept it as a particular take on the events and go on anyway – so maybe he should tell him what really happened when all of this will be over. It sure would be nice having some gratitude for saving his life.

“Thank you for the meal, it was delicious,” he bows before his empty plate, chest tight, and lets the tepid coffee wash away the need to vomit and the temptation to spill his heart there and then. Kurusu takes away the dishes and lays them in the kitchen sink, unties the knot and hangs the apron in the restroom. Without his blazer and with the suspenders down Sakamoto style, he sure gives off the thug vibes, even with those fake glasses still on.

“I’ll be going now. See you tomorrow morning.”

“See you tomorrow.”

His hand hesitates on the handle. “It may be presumptuous of me to demand this, but please allow me on the frontline tomorrow. It would be for the best.”

“For reasons?”

He laughs, loud and free. What a boy. “Yes, for reasons. Keep me close and don’t solo fight or do anything stupid if you can’t figure things out. We can win this.”

“Goodnight, then,” Kurusu says with a nod.

“Yes, goodnight.”

His breath freezes outside his lips, reddened and a bit swollen from the spiciness and the coffee. He strides past the Jongen subway station: the cold will do no good to his digestion, but he needs a walk and some fresh air.

* * *

The younger Niijima stands on top of the subway stairs, her teal coat a stain of colorful paint against the white clouded sky. With her arms crossed, her nails worry at the fabric on her biceps, and she keeps shifting weight from leg to leg. Goro climbs the stairs, treading on every step so that the noise echoes against the walls of the empty way. Niijima turns to face him, her hands fall by her side.

“Good morning,” she stretches a thin smile out of politeness. “I think the others are on their way as well.”

“Good morning,” he nods, “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Hey Makoto!” Takamaki’s loud voice cheers from the stairs. “Oh, good morning Akechi.” She puts down her bag and stretches with a full-mouth yawn. “I’m sorry. I was so anxious about not arriving late that I barely slept. Don’t tell Morgana, please.”

Goro waves a hand. “Your secret is safe with us.”

The silence stretches and they turn their attention to the phones, mood nowhere near the feverish excitement that filled the air the first time Goro lived through this. Were they merely putting up a show of confidence for him, knowing full well he was going to betray them?

Heavy steps resound, and Sakamoto greets them with the second yawn of the day.

“Jeez, I don’t get up this early even for school. What a pain.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Niijima sighs.

“Oh, rite, ‘mornin,” he scratches his head. He tilts his chin up and squeezes his eyes. “Hey, isn’t that one Yusuke?”

Takamaki stands on her toes. “You mean the one walking from the opposite direction we came?”

A gangly boy with short blue hair wearing grey striped jacket and dark trousers waves a hand in their direction.

“I believe that one is Kitagawa, yes.”

Niijima shakes her head. “Thank goodness the area is still deserted at this hour on Sunday.”

“Wanna bet he came all the way on foot ‘cause he didn’t have money for the ticket?” Sakamoto snickers.

“Good morning, everyone,” Kitagawa bows lightly, “It seems I managed to make it on time, despite the long walk. A refreshing experience indeed.”

“Dude…”

“Oh!” Okumura’s voice exclaims, “good morning, everyone. Who’s missing?”

“The Yongen crew,” Sakamoto rubs his nose, “bet Akira had some trouble gettin’ up in the end, huh?”

“We can hear your lies!” Futaba Sakura beams from the stairs, Kurusu by her side and Morgana already on his shoulder.

Niijima clears her voice. “Very well. Since everyone is here, let’s split and head inside. I made sure sis will read the calling card and that she won’t be able to leave the house. How about her devices Futaba?”

“In check,” she adjusts her glasses with a sneer, “my magic will block every single attempt at contacting anyone.”

Kurusu takes his phone out of the pocket and casts a look upon the group. “It’s showtime,” he announces with a smirk that erases the tired eyes and heavy shoulders as a healing spell. No wonder the entire group revolves around him.

Goro tugs at his gloves, they change color from black to red, matching his princely outfit. How ironic that he has to achieve one good thing in his life while still needing to lie on a certain extent. Loki roars in the back of his head, but he focuses on Robin Hood and prepares for the fight. A light, high-pitched voice laughs in his ears, a trill too distant to grasp, and the Velvet Room blue light flickers in his peripheral vision. He takes a deep breath and blinks. Everyone arounds him either minds their own business or chat, stretching and checking gears and weapons with Joker being the sole exception, his face directed towards the door and his gaze unfocused in the distance. Goro takes a step forward, and he snaps back to reality.

“Everyone’s ready?” Joker summons the group, and a collective nod follows. “Queen, Fox and Crow, you three will be with me on the starting line.”

“Roger.”

“Panther and Mona, be ready to aid Queen if we’ll need more healing or she needs a break from fight.”

“Yessir!”

“Noir, Skull, I’m counting on you if our firepower won’t be enough.”

“Sure thing.”

“Oracle, give the support all you’ve got.”

“I’ll back you up from the skies!”

“All right,” Joker concludes, heading inside, “let’s win this.”

They cross the bridge and enter the treasure room, whose pedestal has been left bare without its glimmer. Sae’s voice lure them in the vault, and the last elevator takes them in the middle of the roulette-themed battle arena. Joker’s eyes follow his every movement, his gaze on him as if he’s some shadow to ambush – maybe Goro should have mentioned that by ‘keep me close’ he didn’t meant watching him like a mix of a stalker and an obsessed lovebird.

Sae’s shadow challenges the group to a fight, ‘fare and square’ she assures – Goro’s mouth quirk up at the lie. She is so confident in her cheats; she would never dream of someone predicting her moves out of experience in that same match.

“Don’t attack her when the roulette’s spinning,” he instructs Joker.

“Crow’s right,” Oracle picks up, “we don’t know what she’ll do if we break the rules. Focus on understanding if there’s a pattern in her action and in which way she’s cheating.”

“Is she?” Panther asks from the backlines.

Queen boosts up their defenses as a safety measure. “You heard her; she spoke about ‘fighting to her heart’s content.’ This Palace was a rigged bet from start to end, there’s no way she’ll fight fare and square as she brags about.”

The roulette stops. Goro takes a deep breath and steadies his body to take the hit that they’ll receive from losing the round. The ball lands on a black number, it costs them a discreet blow.

Mona takes over the navigation line. “Have you figured out what she did, Joker?”

“Yes,” he turns to Goro for further confirmation, “she’s using a glass lid to shield the pockets we bet for.”

“We need someone to expose her,” Goro nods.

“I will go,” Fox volunteers, “Queen needs to stay with you in case you should need healing spells.”

“Agreed, go on,” Joker approves, and focuses back on the roulette.

Sae laughs and adjusts her black flapper hat, snaps her fingers and the bet on the monitor changes, displaying they will play with their money at stake.

“What will your next bet be?”

“We should continue to keep it safe for now, Joker,” Goro suggests. Fox will solve the cheating problem, but at this point, better safe than sorry. If he plays his cards well enough and make use of his knowledge in the crucial moments, the dispute will be over with no major damage. So, they can go straight after Shido before the bastard suspects anything and make him pay for everything – not that the Thieves will let him aim for his life. What a pity, really.

“Crow!” Oracle calls. “Stay focused, we need you with your feet on the ground. Leave the daydreaming for later, the roulette’s almost stopped.”

“Ready whenever,” he replies, his hand runs to his laser gun by his side for the incoming hold up. Fox steadies his rifle and raises his hand. The spinning comes to a halt, the white ball lingers on a red pocket; a shot, and the glass shatters in million pieces, allowing the ball to fall on the correct number.

“How dare you!” Sae shouts, and the three of them on the frontline upturn the odds in their favor taking advantage of her distraction. Queen’s hands shake around the revolver, arms stretched and grip tight, her right index placed on the trigger.

“How could you call this ‘fair and square’ sis?”

“Shut up!” the shadow bites. “You have no idea of what I had to-”

“Guys stop,” Oracle screams, “her reading’s acting strange. It – it’s becoming weaker?!”

With a pained cry, Sae’s shadow falls to her knees and her hands disappear in a haze of black ashes. Queen throws away her gun and runs to her.

“Sis?” her voice comes out cracked, “what’s going on? Sis?”

The Thieves yell words his mind can’t make out, every sound outmatched by the pounding of his own heart. Joker’s watching him, lips parted and eyes wide, face so pale it’s not so distant from his white mask. Goro shakes his head, thoughts fogged, body frozen still. It’s happening again – he had the situation under control and yet, everything is slipping away from his hands like desert sand on a windy day.

“Oracle,” he forces his voice firm, “what-”

“It’s the real one the problem here. She’s… I mean, the only explanation would be that-”

Goro blinks. “Someone is threatening her life. Her real life.”

“No!” Queen cries, over and over, her hands incapable of touching the shadow’s body the more it dissolves in the air.

The floor shakes, and the walls tremble as if a lighting hit the garden just outside the casino. A second shake comes as the wave of a tsunami, and a portion of the ceiling collapses in large pieces of tiles and concrete. Goro coughs in the thick cloud of dust, eyes burning behind the red mask, and he spits out the filth in his lungs. Rubble isolates the main lineup from the supporting group.

“Out of here, now!” Mona commends. “Or else we’ll be done for good.”

The explosion of a grenade launcher, and Noir claims, “We can go out from here!”

“But what will we find in the real world?” Panther panics.

“We’ll figure it out,” Skull replies, “better out there than here dyin’ for sure.”

Goro grits his teeth. “Shit, they can’t see us. We have to climb out of this place, now.”

“Oracle where are Fox and the others?” Mona asks.

“Stuck in position up on the roulette. Fox can you hear me?”

“Yes, but I believe we won’t be able to move from here. I’ll look for another exit.”

“You two, with me,” Queen stands up and hops on Johanna, mask lifted on her head and eyes glassy. “Oracle, the situation? Can you guide us outside?”

“Ugh! I’m trying but this Palace is collapsing faster and faster. I’m picking up your voices so we can talk while we run. Our group will head out from inside the building, you four will have to break that wall and escape from the outside.”

“Roger that,” Fox summons Goemon and exploits a crack in the divider.

They jump on the wall covering the roulette pockets and pass through the hole to reach the cornice of the main roof. The rising sun welcomes them out, unshielded by buildings and blinding in its shine from that altitude. The wind blows hard up on the roof and threatens Goro’s balance, so he lays his back on the wall. What remains of the arena crumbles against the lower floor, leaving a round chasm and nothing else.

“Joker, is your group all right?” Oracle asks.

“Yes, we’re outside.”

“Perfect. Can you see that triangle-shaped building on your left? You have to pass the cowgirl neon sign to reach it. You can use the rooftop as a passage and then slide down that building until you reach the ground.”

Queen scouts the way ahead. “Are you totally sure about this?”

“Either this, or you jump, that’s your choice. It’s the only way I can find – damn Joker, next time you better buy a grappling hook in that shady gun shop of yours.”

They crouch down to steady their hurried steps on the round cornice of the dome that still shakes from the earthquake and jump down on the adjacent building’s flat roof. Goro’s lungs scream to take a break and he turns his head over his shoulder: half of the ‘casino’ neon sign collapsed together with the right portion of the structure, and severed electric cables hang free from the remaining letters in a storm of sparks and cracks. In front of him, the side of the Casino covered in windows and skylights they are supposed to use as a ramp stretches down until the ground for hundreds of meters more than he is willing to think about.

“Oracle?” Joker calls.

“Are you on the edge of the rooftop?”

“Yes, what about you?”

“We – ugh! We’re in the Mona bus, it’s the only way to take advantage of the collapsed floors to get out of here, but without Queen’s driving things are rough.”

A loud creak comes from the other half of the sign, and it falls off in the air with a portion of the roof.

“How do we descend?” Fox asks.

“There are windows along the building, right? Use those to climb down – time for Crow to show us his bouldering skills.”

How does she even know that? He grits his teeth to suppress a growl and shakes his head; he lifts his mask up on his hair and tugs at his gloves.

“Here’s the rule: search for solid spots with your feet and _do not_ proceed with your hands unless you are on safe ground. Let’s split so we can avoid forming a line.”

“Ok guys,” Oracle adds, “we’re halfway out of this hell. We’ll come take you as soon as possible so you can avoid the last portion and directly jump on the Mona bus. I’ll keep you updated on the whole self-destruction process.”

Thick smoke rises from the place they left up above, a slim dark silhouette that twists up into the air and grows wider against the pale blue of the clear morning sky, an ominous signal. Goro’s hands and shoulders protests at every movement, every little step down, every ledge he reaches, every rest that lasts just a breath.

“Hey, Oracle,” Queen’s voice speaks between pants and pauses, “what happened to my sister… do you think…?”

“I’m afraid… yes, it’s likely. We didn’t take the treasure, but the Palace is collapsing all the same.”

“But _how_? She couldn’t go out and we blocked all her devices. How could it be possible?”

“Maybe she had another phone we didn’t know of? I have no idea! Someone must have broken in your house as well…”

“They took action _this_ fast? With the life of a public prosecutor involved?” her tone cracks.

Goro’s booth slips on the wood and he tenses to maintain the balance in the upper part of his body.

“Shit!” he curses. He tests the waters with the next ledge and stabilizes his feet, heart racing and face hot, a shiver travels down his spine. A voice calls for him, but his response is stuck in his throat. With tight chest and trembling legs, he descends another step.

Futaba Sakura is the only person behind the original Medjed, the same girl who stole data from Sae’s hard disk, bugged his and Kurusu’s phone and overheard Leblanc’s conversations for weeks without raising suspicions or leaving traces behind. The possibility of the IT company president bypassing her block around Sae’s communication devices is highly unlikely, and if that were the case, the entire operation would have taken more than a couple hours to be completed. Sae must have gained access to a second phone that they failed to predict – the kind of safety measures applied with undercover agents.

Goro inhales a deep breath, his whole body burns and shakes.

If someone assassinated Sae Niijima, Shido must know. No one has the power to impose such an order beside him – aiming at Sae’s life had never been part of the plan.

He bites his lip; blood spills and runs down his chin. He’s done for – if Goro walks out of the Palace alive, he’ll be dead by the time he reaches his apartment. Shido must have tried to finish them all by killing Sae while they were in his Palace, but paranoid as he is, some of his men could as well be waiting for the Thieves outside of the courthouse. Just in case, right?

“Piece of shit,” he hisses.

“Crow, are you all right?” Oracle inquires. “Hang in there, we’re outside. Everyone, just stop where you are, we’re coming.”

Goro rushes down. Ledge after ledge, the floor draws nearer and nearer. He jumps and rolls on the ground, every bone in his body pounds and aches, and his mask is nowhere to be seen. He steadies his limbs and forces his feet to walk further. Nothing is broken. He hastens the pace, treading turns into running and he sprints toward the Velvet Room door.

“Where are you going Crow?!” Oracle yells.

“What do you mean?” Panther asks.

“I can see him, he’s near the exit,” Fox adds.

“Is he fleein’ or what?” Skull snarls.

Blue steam leaks from the bars and dissolves in the air; _‘We’ll soon meet again’_ the light voice chants in his head. Breathing comes in and out his dry throat, heavy and uneven, pain stings in every muscle. He grits teeth and moves forward.

“Crow,” Joker calls, “what are you doing?”

Blood boils in his veins. He killed so many, why saving one single person is this much trouble? He will set this right, no matter what.

“I told you that I will stay true to my word,” he spits and rubs away the blood on his chapped mouth with his hand. “If mistakes happen, I’ll correct them. If I fail, I will learn and try again. I refuse to let things end like this.”

Goro opens the door, and the apocalyptic scenario of Sae’s crumbling Casino vanishes in the dark. He wakes in the doorless prison cell, his black mask outfit on. Igor inspects him from his desk, a deep chuckle escapes his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nex chapter will have: Akechi again, and... this fic equivalent of MadoMagi episode 10 I guess?
> 
> I'll be back on the regular update schedule! So next chapter should come in 14-20days. I now have a Twitter if by chance you want to drop by, I'm [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes). I don't talk much tbh, I mostly retweet fanworks from P5 (watch out for Royal spoilers there), FE3H and other fandoms - I might give a shot to fic updates if someone's interested?  
> Anyway, thanks to all the people following this fic ;_;


	7. Goro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Akechi's pic attached*  
> I LIVED BITCH
> 
> I, uhm. Hello? Sorry it took this long to update, life hasn't been very kind to me these months plus this chapter has been a real pain to write (you'll understand why).  
> A quick summary of the fic so far, just in case: Goro lept from a wordline where he dies to a wordline where he manages not to die and a strange voice has starts ringing in his ears from time to time. The real problem is: Akira dies. So Goro tried going back in time before Sae's Palace infiltration but that did not go well. So in this chapter, he tries again. Shenanigans happen.
> 
> Please mind the tags, watch for the angst and I hope you enjoy this piece!  
> Hopefully I can go back to a normal schedule (man I wish so......), but fret not, I intend to finish this fic by the end of the year! It will have 13/14 chapters and the count shouldn't change anymore, so yeah, we're halfway through!
> 
> (extra kudos to Hansei for beta reading this monster chapter)

The police officer standing in front of the door that leads to the interrogation room eyes him with a quirked brow.

“Are you sure you don’t need to be accompanied?”

Goro stretches a pleasant smile on his lips. “He’s cuffed, yes? I don’t think he can be dangerous anymore, also considering the state he’s in.”

The buzz coming from the neon lights pervades the corridor. The guard doesn’t move; Goro’s smile fades.

“Besides,” he sibilates, “the higher-ups didn’t mention an ulterior witness.”

His grip tightens around the handle of the briefcase, and leather creaks following his fingers. _Calm down_.

The man’s eyes sharpen, but he turns to unlock the door and steps aside. “The suspect’s methods are still unknown. Please call me if he tries to do something strange.”

Goro nods and pulls down the handle. From the hallway, a square of light breaks through the half-darkness of the room and illuminates the plastered floor and the table: behind it sits Kurusu Akira, flesh and bones, whose head twists to the side; he shuts his eyes with a twist of his mouth. Cuts and bruises mark his face, and drips of rusty, dried-up blood stain the white turtleneck of his school uniform.

Goro breathes in the stuffy air, lets the door close behind him, and advances.

“Kurusu?”

Kurusu sits as straighter as the handcuffs allow him, his mouth twitches in pain. He blinks. Livid circles trace the line of his eyes and get lost in the reddened, scraped skin of his cheeks. A pair of grey, too glassy irises follow his movements, but they fail to focus. _Shit – it wasn’t this bad before._

Goro waves a hand before him. “It’s Akechi. Are you lucid enough to understand me?”

Kurusu squints.

“Akechi?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh… my head hurts,” he swallows his words. “What are you doing here?”

Goro breathes in. “I’m rescuing you.”

“Me?” Kurusu’s gaze lowers to his briefcase and raises back up to his face. His head shakes in the slightest. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Goro lays the briefcase on the table and opens it. He fumbles under sheets of paper and a folded sweater vest and grabs the lockpick. “I know it must have looked like a betrayal, but I truly had no idea they had anticipated the operation by a whole week.” He crouches behind the chair and works with the handcuffs. The first one breaks with a soft click. “It’s been a serious mistake on my part. I’m here to fix it.”

The second ring cracks open, and the handcuffs hit the floor with a metallic clatter. Kurusu massages his scarred wrists, winces, and slides more into the chair.

“What about the others?”

“I’m here alone,” Goro gets up and puts back the lockpick. “I haven’t told them about this plan. They wouldn’t have believed me, anyway.”

“What days is it now?”

“Still November 13th. Late evening, to be precise.”

Kurusu leans on the table and covers his face with his hands. “It feels like I’ve been knocked out for entire days.”

Goro crosses his arms. _He went through the whole interrogation with Sae in this state._

“You would have already been dead if a week had passed. Now, please follow me outside.”

“Akechi.” Kurusu clenches and unclenches his fists and rests his palms flat on the wood. “Aren’t you going to kill me?”

He gulps. “I have no reason to do such a thing.”

“Then why—" Kurusu’s mouth morphs into a grimace, his fingers press against his temple. “Shit. The drug’s making me hallucinate things – why all of this seems so familiar?”

His heart drops to his feet with every ounce of heat in his body. He wets his lips. There’s no way Kurusu can remember what’s happened in the past.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Kurusu whispers, “just give me a moment.”

He stretches his legs and pushes the chair farther, uses his arms as leverage, and stands up. His shoulders hang in a slouch even more accentuated than usual, but at least he can stand. Goro nods and turns to the briefcase; he removes his belongings and picks up the taser gun and the handgun buried deep inside.

“This is the plan: I’m going to stun the guard outside and lock him here. Since Sae’s Palace no longer exists, we’ll have to break out the physical way: we can use one of the emergency-exits for that.” He raises the pistol. “This is for precaution. I hope we won’t need it, but I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry.” He slots it between the hem of his pants and his back – the cold steel stings his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

One of Kurusu’s eyebrow shoots up. “What if they call for reinforcements?”

“We can only hope that won’t be the case.” Goro puts back the content in the briefcase and closes it. “However, I assure you no one among the ordinary cops wants you dead – we can take advantage of that and make good use of the taser and… some shots.”

“You’re not afraid of transforming this escape in a shooting?”

Goro breathes in. The intake of air burns in his throat and lungs. “I’d like to avoid killing people. But getting you out is more important. We’ll have to push through another Palace as soon as we can, in any case.”

“Shido’s Palace?”

A shiver runs down his spine. “Yes.”

Kurusu nods and steps by his side, his back still curved, but his gaze is more focused. Goro closes his hand around the handle. He suddenly opens the door and forces the taser against the guard’s side, who gasps and flinches.

“What the—”

Goro releases electric shock. The man’s cry of pain echoes in the empty corridor, and he collapses on the floor with a blunt thud, his hat falls from his head and rolls away. Goro stills. The only sound is the pounding of blood in his ears. No one comes. _Good_.

He exhales the tension in his chest and signals Kurusu to come out, who oversteps the body and observes them both.

“Do you need help?”

“I don’t think you would be able to,” he shakes his head. “Go on, I can manage.”

Kurusu nods and walks away toward the entrance, stride slow but not as silent and smooth as it is in the Metaverse.

Goro grabs the guard by the armpits and drags him in the interrogation room – his shoulders and lower back protest for the exertion. He picks up the hat, throws it inside with a twist of his mouth, and closes the door. _Now for the exit._

Kurusu pops out from the corner leading to the elevator, his arms struggle to gain his attention. ‘Someone’s coming,’ he mouths with his lips.

“Figures,” Goro spits and hurries to his side. The red number on the led screen above the elevator drops by one every few seconds, and a little triangle with his vertex pointing down flashes intermittently. His eyes travel back and forth between the elevator’s doors and the two sides of the corridor.

“We can hide behind the corners.”

“You’ll hide,” Kurusu gestures, “I’ll distract them.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you can barely stand on your feet.”

“That’ll buy us time, you can attack them from behind.”

An ominous ‘-2’ appears on the screen. _For God’s sake, there’s no time._ Goro grits his teeth.

“All right, as you wish.”

He turns the corner and hits the wall with his back, taser gun ready in hand and fire gun pressed tight against his spine. A beep resounds from the elevator, the doors open with a metallic screech.

“It’s the room on the far right, correct?” a manly voice with a heavy rasp asks.

“Yes,” a younger colleague replies.

“Man,” a third, low voice adds, “let’s hope Yamashita’s just being paranoid and we’re not up to some surprise this late in the evening.”

Bile burns Goro’s throat, he swallows down a growl – _we’re outnumbered_. Kurusu gives him a quick signal from across the corridor and steadies his body as best as he can. Goro advances his weight, ready to leap.

The policemen walk around the corner – no one turns his back to check on him. The youngest one is gangly, his shoulders curve forward in a slouch even worse than Kurusu’s. _Maybe a few years older than me._ He stands behind the other two - _not a great threat._

_His colleagues, anyway…_

He bites his lip. Both have a broader figure than the guard he took down and stand with their back straight; their hand runs for the gun liners hanging from their belt.

“Shit, it’s him!”

“Bastard, how did you escape?”

Three pistols point against Kurusu, who takes little steps back with his hands held high and a cocky grin on his face.

“C’mon,” he speaks as if he’s confronting shadows, “aren’t the gun a bit too much? It’s not like you can shoot me.”

One of the elder officers adjusts his aim. “Maybe a little warning will suffice. After all, you won’t need your pretty thief hands in one piece anymore, you punk.”

The explosion scratches against his ears and makes his blood a solid block of ice in his vein. Kurusu starts and trips backward, the shot stuck somewhere in the tiled floor behind him.

“On your back,” the officer orders. “Hashimoto, cuff him.”

The younger one sheathes back the gun and extracts a pair of handcuffs, walks to Kurusu, and immobilizes his arms under the menace of the other two.

Goro licks his mouth. He passes the taser in his right hand and slips the left under the hem of his slacks for the pistol. _One of them drops his gun, the other one gets distracted, Kurusu deals with the Hashimoto guy._ He aims at the hand of the officer on the left.

“Wait,” the colleague on the right lowers his gun a bit, “hadn’t Yamashita spoke about another person? That one detective.”

Goro swallows. His aim shifts from the hand to the point between the man’s shoulder blades, where the deep blue fabric of the uniform tenses flat. At least he tried. His shaky index pulls the trigger. The officer on the left yells and collapses, crimson blood spurts from his chest. Kurusu surges forward and downs the guard approaching him with all his weight.

“You, filthy traitor!” the remaining one screams and points his gun against him. Goro shoots a second time – another body drops dead on the floor. His ears are numb for the explosions, his blood set on fire by the adrenaline rushing through his body. The sheer scent of gunpowder stings his nostrils. Before him, Kurusu is fighting hand-to-hand with the last one, struggles to keep him immobilized on the ground.

Goro aims, but the tangled limbs frantically moving are too big of a mess. _Shit._ He comes closer with slow steps and switches to the taser. _A bit more, just a bit more._

The guard manages to free one of his hands and reaches for his gun. Kurusu lands a jab with his elbow, misses the face, and only hits the side of his head.

A third shot.

Kurusu’s body collapses on the officer.

A deep howl cuts his way out of Goro’s throat.

_God damn it._

* * *

Pungent steam spirals up from the coffee. Goro taps the cup on the side and leans on the palm of his right hand; the left one lays abandoned on the counter. _Lift it._ Fingers curl around the handle. His eyes burn and prickle. He bites down a yawn and squeezes the little ceramic ring.

“Are you ok?” Kurusu asks before him, thumb and index tormenting strands of his fringe.

“Yes, thank you,” _Don’t sigh._ “I’m just tired.”

Morgana jumps on the chair next to him.

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” his tail twitches. “We cleared the whole of Sae’s Palace in a few days.”

“It was—”

“Necessary, I know. We didn’t have much choice.”

The bitter taste of coffee coats his mouth and spreads through the back of his nose. Comforting warmth flows down his body, makes his fingertips tingle, and his back sits straighter.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

Morgana shifts on the seat and looks away.

“Well, it’s not like we—”

“Thank _you_ ,” Kurusu intervenes, “for the help with the infiltration.”

His eyes are in part shadowed by the thick hair, but the darker marks that run under the lower lashes aren’t caused by the strands. Yet those slate irises crawl under his skin as if that boy knows more than he lets out. _Like that hasn’t already happened more than once._

Goro sips his coffee, forces his throat to swallow.

“Duty,” he replies. His lips stretch in a poor smile.

Kurusu nods. His gaze still lingers on him, like he has more to say but is debating whether to speak. His hands run to hide in the pockets. _Uh. Sensitive topic._

“Seriously though,” his weight shifts from one leg to the other. “Your insights about the Casino were precious and the bless and curse spells offered great coverage.”

“Yeah,” Morgana adds, “I have to admit that he’s right.” He licks his paw and scratches the back of his ear. “This… wouldn’t have been possible for us. To be this quick without you in the team.”

_Hoping this time, things will work out._

“Speaking about the team,” Goro changes topic, “isn’t it almost time for the meeting?”

Kurusu turns to look at the tv screen. A blue square in the bottom right of the news program displays the time: 17.55, Saturday, November 5th.

Leblanc’s doorbell rings, and Futaba Sakura and Sae’s younger sister step past the threshold.

“Good evening,” Niijima greets, “are we the first ones?”

Morgana jumps down and trots to the entrance. “Yes, and I hope the others will show up soon. We have no time to waste.”

“Urgh,” Sakura snorts, “might’ve let me finish the new episode.”

Niijima sighs. “Please, thank Boss for us, Akira. It was a last-minute gathering and he closed up the shop anyway.”

“Sure.”

Goro drinks the last bit of coffee and hands out the empty cup to him.

“Delicious as always, Kurusu.”

“Akira’s fine,” he shrugs, “you’re part of the team now.”

“Right.”

The glass door swings open again, and the rest of the team makes their way in the café. Niijima walks past the group and stops near the stairs.

“Is everyone ready?”

The agreement is unanimous. Akira untangles his apron and slips it off with a stylish, swift motion. _Show-off._ He hangs it on the wall and adjusts his glasses.

“Let’s prepare the calling card. Tomorrow’s the day.”

His lungs ache and scream for air. _The staircase_. Outside the vault, he dashes down the bridge. _How many times did I rig the coin system now?_ The lunge of the High Limit lobby opens before him. The muscles and tendrils in his legs are so tense they might snap in half. _I need the elevator._

“Crow!”

Joker’s voice calls for him. Goro jumps the steps two by two and runs through the area, Joker at his heels chasing him.

“Arsène!”

The curse spell burns through the princely clothes on his back, and no matter how weak, it erodes flesh like pure acid. He grits his teeth and stumbles on the floor, his rigged breath matches the furious pulse between his shoulder blades that spreads pain like a flood.

Joker stops at the end of the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

_I have no time for this._

He forces trembling arms to sustain his weight and gets on his knees. The shape of the glass elevator blurs in his vision.

Joker takes another step forward.

“Oracle’s scanning for a safe route to escape – they didn’t get us yet, why are you running?”

 _God._ He clenches fists.

“You think you can escape safely?” he spits, “Didn’t you see how many of them there are?”

“Of course I saw it!” Joker yells. Goro’s stomach twitches as if about to gag. “This is exactly why I don’t understand where you think you’re going. We’re trapped. We need to be cautious if we want to find a way out.”

_There’s no time. No time._

“Joker—”

“Or maybe,” his voice turns ice, “you don’t need to worry about fleeing out of here alive.”

Another step.

“Maybe all of this was planned, wasn’t it?”

Goro inhales. The lump in his throat remains still. He gets back up on unsteady legs. _The elevator._

“Don’t make it difficult,” he hisses.

Chains tinkle behind his back. _You stubborn fool._

“Robin Hood!”

The bless spell explodes. Joker screams. He sprints for the transparent doors, smashes the button to open them, and throws himself inside. The cold surface soothes his back and spinning head, and the Casino floors slide up before him through the glass.

A light voice, gentle as the tinkle of a spoon on a crystal glass, calls for his name. “You have to hurry, Goro Akechi,” she whispers in his head and vanishes, too far away to grasp.

_Velvet Room. I need the Velvet Room._

* * *

Heavy rain patters against something. A crowd moves. People form a line.

Goro blinks. One of the platforms of Shibuya train station unravels before him, buzzy and cramped with commuters as every early morning. The concrete pillars invite him to lay there and rest, _just for a while, no one will notice_. He shakes his head. The perfectly buttoned shirt and tie of his winter uniform scratch against heated skin.

Heavy breath.

He checks the phone: 7.15, Wednesday, September 14th. G _ood._

The train he uses to take is announced by the speakers. He raises his head to watch the led screen – a shadow moves on the edge of his vision. The grip against his familiar briefcase tightens.

Akira Kurusu walks down the stairs and stops before him. The white of his eyes is strained with hints of red capillaries, and from his left shoulder, curved in the usual slouch, hangs the Shujin schoolbag, far too empty with one of the strings loose around his arm.

Goro forces a smile on his lips.

“Good morning, A— Kurusu.”

“‘morning.”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“Slept bad,” he brushes his eyes under the glasses, “my, uh, cat got lost and he didn’t come back home last night.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he offers. The words sound hollow. “Maybe I can help somehow?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. He’s smart, I know he can find his way,” he bites his lower lip. “We… we’ve treated him a bit too harshly, maybe he’s angry and needs to stay on his own.”

His train is announced again. _Every other conversation died here_. He swallows.

“I should be going,” he smiles, “but I hope things turn for the best with your cat and to meet with you in more favorable circumstances.” He turns to leave. Stops. Every fiber of his body protests, unsettled. “Actually, do you think I can stop by Leblanc this afternoon? There’s something I’d like to hear your opinion about.”

Akira’s eyes sparkle. “What is it?”

“This is not the best place to talk about it,” he smirks and waves his hand. “See you later!”

His threading is muffled by the luxurious carpet laid on the marbled floor of the ship, Joker, and Mona following him with steady steps and agitated whispers. The short hair at the back of Goro’s neck stands up. _So much trust in me after I spent days stitching their friendship back, huh._

The gaudy corridor comes to an end. Four golden lions set in equally shiny doors stare back at them with empty orbs. In between, a column with five slots divide them into pairs, and above the closed passage engraved capital letters read ‘Representatives Chamber’.

“That’s it,” he hisses.

“Yes!” Mona leaps forward and scratches the brass. “I can sense it! The treasure is indeed past these doors.”

“How do we get there?” Joker asks.

Goro points the column. “We’ll need keycards to fit in there. And since the only people allowed by Shido’s side in his poor—” he coughs, “in his selfish vision of the government are those who proved to be loyal to him beyond doubt, we’ll have to make sure his cognition thinks of us as such.”

His guts give a decisive twist. _The irony of it all._

Joker’s tongue clicks. “We’ll need a recommendation.”

“Precisely,” he nods, “and I have already discovered who can help us.”

Mona crosses his tiny cat arms. “When did you find _this_?” His head hints at the place. “This Palace is huge.”

“Not shortly after Medjed,” he lies, “and yes, that’s why I’ve never ventured further inside alone.”

“Who do we need to speak with?”

“People particularly tied to Shido’s closest circle: a politician, a former noble, the president of the tv station, the president of an IT company, and,” he pauses, “a member of the yakuza.”

“You’re kidding us.”

“I wish I were, Mona.”

“How are we supposed to infiltrate _two_ Palaces in less than three weeks—”

“We can manage,” Joker’s voice is firm. “We gained two members, and we have money to spare. If we upgrade the gears, and I switch to support, you, Panther, and Queen can take turns at the healing. We can do it.”

“You seem so sure…”

“Because I am.”

The cat grumbles under his breath but doesn’t raise other objections.

Goro clears his voice. “What is the deadline for Okumura’s marriage?”

“October 11th,” Mona snorts.

“Then we need to fight Shido on the 10th. This means Kunikazu Okumura’s heart has to be changed on the 9th – not sooner.”

“So, we need both routes secured by the 7th.”

“Yes.”

“Wait,” he squints, “Why can’t we deal with Okumura first, and _then_ explore this Palace?”

Goro restrains a sigh. _Niijima would have asked this question, anyway._

“Because Okumura has colluded with Shido. If more than a few days pass after his heart gets changed, Shido will have the chance to kill him – it’s only logical that he wouldn’t want whatever secrets they’re sharing revealed to the police.”

“How do you—”

“Sae’s working on this,” he blurts out. _It’s not even a lie._ “I… happened to take a peek at her laptop,” he concludes with a smile, to which the cat reacts with a twitch of his mouth.

“Joker?”

“I don’t think we have much choice,” he reflects.

Goro clenches fists _._ His cheeks pulse with heat, and he turns to avoid their gazes and takes a few steps down the large hallway, where shadow guests chatter and exchange pleasantries and gossips. His hands itch, and he grits his teeth. _The galas and business meetings were always like that._ Digging up information and insights was a meager consolation, a small, golden coin resulted from a tedious process of endless small talking. _Perhaps one of them remembers meeting with me_.

He shivers. _This hell of a ship will be a fucking minefield._

“Crow,” Mona walks near him. “I think it’s better to call it a day for now. We need to inform the others and I don’t like how the shadows are buzzing.”

“Are they?”

“It’s faint, but something’s going on for sure.”

“Let’s take a detour, then,” he suggests. “We can use the side corridors to avoid the main one and disguise between guests until we reach the exit.”

“Goro Akechi?” a deep, strained voice calls. His heart stops: a guard. _Obviously._ “Who are they?”

He stretches his biggest smile. “Oh, there’s no need to—”

“Shit,” Mona reaches for his saber. “They spotted us. Joker!”

“I’ve got you,” he surges forward and unmasks the shadow, who transmutes into a white Cerberus. Goro restrains a growl and unsheathes his lightsaber. _Just one shadow._ He bites his lower lip. _Just one shadow_.

Flames blaze around them, closing in a circle. The silhouettes of the architecture blur and flicker distorted by heat so strong it makes his throat and nostrils burn intaking dry hair; his tongue lingers on his lips, tastes salty drips of sweat. His white outfit sticks on his body like a second skin.

“Any ice spells?”

“None,” Joker rasps. _Great._ “Crow,” he adds, “with me. Mona, support us.”

They time their attack together, Joker serving as a decoy more than dealing damage. Goro seizes the opportunity and sinks his sword into the side, candid fur gets reduced to ashes, and flesh and bones sizzle under his white-hot blade.

The Cerberus roars and the second wave of fire erupts near them. Goro rolls on his side, the stink of burned clothes fills him.

“Mediarama!” Mona shouts. A cooling breeze graces his limbs. He forces his legs to stand up and raises the sword for the next lunge.

His hold on the hilt falters.

Joker’s tailcoat is engulfed by flames, and the boy is knocked down on one knee, dagger lost in the fight.

“He’s burning!”

“I know!” the cat cries. “I’m doing my best, but we’re low on healing items.”

_No, no._

Goro reaches for his mask. Opens his mouth. A third Maragidyne spell throws him off balance. The smell of burnt flesh and hair is thick and persistent. He bites back a gag, stands up again. His body trembles.

Joker lays on the floor.

Mona screams.

Loki’s voice howls in the back of his head.

_I’ll crush this piece of shit and set things right._

* * *

The world spins. His legs stutter, and he falls on a mattress. His futon. The ceiling of his apartment, a dark shade of cold grey cut in half by a ray of moonlight filtering through the curtains. The faint pop of fireworks exploding in the distance. He focuses on his breathing – in, and out. In. out. _It shouldn’t be this hard._

With the back of his hand, he brushes sticky hair away from his forehead. His phone buzzes on the nightstand, a quick, ragged sound against the hardwood. He stretches his arm, goosebumps forming on it. He unlocks the screen.

The calendar is reminding him of a report to file by tomorrow afternoon. No Shido missed calls. He draws out a heavy sigh.

A double-check at the date: Monday, July 18th. _Good_. He opens the browser and searches for Medjed: only weeks-old articles show up in the results. The main Japanese newspapers don’t mention a word about hacker groups. He switches to the call log: no recent conversations, either. _Excellent._

Goro sits on his bed. With the Medjed setup out of the framework, the Phantom Thieves’ fame will cool down in due time – or, at least until the group will make contacts with Okumura’s daughter again. _If this still happens._ His mouth twists into a grimace. No Medjed means no Futaba Sakura as navigator.

“I must find Akira,” he whispers. His dry throat aches. The sole thought of drinking induces a gag out of his stomach.

_Find Akira… to say what?_

He grits his teeth. Dragging the group inside Shido’s Palace would be insane – he would deny them the training of three Palaces worth of work. A bitter laugh escapes his lips. _What the hell_. The farther he goes back, the more things would change – the nose said that. He punches the mattress, the whole of his body shaking. It’s no use dealing with bigger and bigger alterations if the only thing he’s allowed to do is waiting for other people to be ready.

 _Still… I have to talk to Akira._ Chills down his spine. _Even if only to make sure he’s alive._

Akira Kurusu, alive and soaked wet, glances at him from under the pouring rain and rushes through the alley under Leblanc’s small recess in between the buildings. Water drips from his locks, longer and straighter than usual, and the white shirt sticks to his figure like a foil, revealing the black t-shirt underneath. The boy blinks through the thick lens of his glasses, sprinkled with raindrops.

“Akechi?”

“Ah— Kurusu, good evening,” he gives the tiniest bow with his head. “You too searching for a shelter?” he asks in a casual tone.

“Well,” Akira licks his lips, “actually, I live here. On the second floor, there’s an attic.”

“My apologies for standing in the way, then. I…” he hesitates. _Should have thought through this better._ “I hope you wouldn’t mind if I stay here until it stops raining?” he smiles “I was supposed to meet with a colleague but, as you can imagine, we couldn’t manage.”

Akira looks away and adjusts his bag. “Sure.”

He grabs a pair of keys from his back pocket and unlocks the door, walks past the threshold, and switches the lights on.

Goro bites the inner side of his mouth. _C’mon, Akira…_

“Hey, uhm,” Akira’s head pops out from the door. “If you want to come in…”

_Sweet._

He scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No intrusion, really. I don’t think Sojiro would mind if a new person gets to taste his coffee.”

“I’ll make sure to thank him, then,” he bows and enters the café. Only the lights above the counter illuminate the shop, leaving the booth seats and corridor near the stairs in half-darkness. The tables are empty, except for a magazine spread open on the farthest one; no boiling water fills the siphons and, without the familiar mixture of coffee and curry filling the air, the sour smell of cleaning products and the stuffy scent of old leather come out. _I wonder if the others ever saw Leblanc like this._

“I’ll go change and I’ll brew some coffee,” Akira stops on the first step.

“Seriously, you don’t have to—”

“Think of it as an investment for a future client,” he jokes. His lips part in a small ‘o’ and the shape of his eyes grows wider as if grasping some new insights for the first time. He shakes his head and climbs the creaky staircase to the attic.

Goro sits at his usual spot on the counter, second seat nearest the entrance. He runs his fingertips on the silhouettes and covers of the books placed on it, held together by metal support, and follows the edge of the smooth surface until his arm stretches. In the far-right corner of the shop, a blatant replica of the infamous ‘Sayuri’ is hanged on the wall. The painting portrays a baby, too, and lacks the ethereal fog that hid part of the woman and contributed to the mysterious atmosphere everyone lost their head for. _Unless…_

He squints. Sojiro Sakura wasn’t a man interested in the art world, especially if regarding someone so famous and surrounded by gossip as Madarame. And this version is so different from the original, it could be a personal interpretation of sorts, more than a mere replica. He squeezes his chin between his fingers.

_‘Kamoshida’s treasure was a golden medal,’ Morgana had told him._

_‘And Madarame’s was a painting,’ Kitagawa had added._

_Oh._ So, this one was the true original – the unaltered portrait that generated the artist’s distortion. _But why leave it here_ _?_

He shivers. _What about Shido’s treasure?_ Forgetting about it would be best, but saving Akira means siding with the group, which implies changing Shido’s heart instead of killing him. He grabs the edge of the counter and the color disappears from his knuckles.

“I’m here,” Akira’s voice echoes from the small corridor. He wears another pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up around the elbows.

Goro breathes in and sits more properly, heart still pounding in his ears.

The boy retrieves his apron from the hanger, slips it on, and ties up the laces behind his back.

“Sorry it took this long.”

“You don’t need to worry.”

“Sojiro would probably scold me for bad customer care,” he smirks. He fills one of the siphons with water and lights up a small flame underneath the glass. His attention turns to the shelves behind him, full of pots and jars of coffee beans, each one accurately labeled. He chooses one in the higher sector and starts grinding the beans in a thin powder with his eyebrows pinched closer.

The gurgling of boiling water fills the room; Akira places two cups on the counter, positions the coffee in the filters, and starts pouring the liquid inside. White steam with a toasted smell rises and dissolves in the air.

“Here,” he slides one cup in his direction.

Goro tilts his head. “Thank you.”

Pungent scent pervades him, and his stomach contorts in a knot. He drinks the first, small sip. The flavor is way milder than the one he’s used to, even coming from Akira, as if the water/powder ratio was a bit off. A smile makes his way on his lips – _he must have learned not too long ago._

“It’s good,” he comments with a nod. “Way better than the one I drink at work, that’s for sure.”

“Thanks. I’m a bit new at this.”

“Well, that’s impressive. Are you working here part-time or something?”

“Yeah,” he waves his hand, “something like that.”

He walks around the counter and sits a chair away from him. Goro forces his smile not to vanish. Akira lifts his cup and sips the coffee, his eyes close in a squint and he hums.

“Not quite the flavor I was after,” he shakes his head. “You should try Sojiro’s one the next time if you want to know what real coffee tastes like.”

“I’d be glad to.”

A comfortable silence stretches between them. The light rain sputtering outside and the lovely fragrance of Leblanc’s coffee are a lull to his soul, and Goro savors that inexperienced cup like a rare gem.

“So,” Akira starts and falls quiet. “What, uhm… what brought you and your colleague to Yongen-Jaya?”

His body stills.

“It’s for a cinema here in the backstreets,” he clarifies, “as far as we know it’s closed,” his voice grows more confident, “but someone reported that some sort of extortion might be involved.”

“Right. I hope things settle for the best.”

“I’m sure we’ll be able to see through this.”

He swallows more coffee. _Now is the chance._

“However,” he adds, “there’s one more thing.”

He turns his head to Akira, whose eyes, framed by thick frames, gleams in the dim lights as if he’d only waited to hear something more than small talks – the kind of look that can pry information without asking too many questions. Yet his shoulder curve forward, and a dark patch stains the t-shirt where the fabric makes contact with still humid hair.

Goro focuses on the thin, circular border of the empty cup. _He’s already gotten a rough evening._ The old clock near the ‘Sayuri’ assists him by ringing eleven o’clock.

“My, look at the time,” he gets up from the chair. The glint in Akira’s grey irises vanish. “I think the rain is stopping, I should get going.” He bows lightly. “Thank you very much for your hospitality.”

Akira nods. He stands up and adjusts the chair, but he stumbles and has to grab the chairback to stabilize himself.

“Are you all right?” Goro hastens to ask.

“Yeah,” he blinks, “I must be tired.”

“I shall leave you to rest, then.”

He walks toward the door.

“Akechi?”

“Yes?”

Akira’s teeth worry on his lower lip.

“Please come back tomorrow. I… feel like there’s something you have to say?”

He smiles. “You’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Two subway trains pass on both sides of the platform, the bloody red light coming through their windows paint intermittent squares on their bodies and the floor. Their shoes clatter on the tiles, the only sound to be heard alongside the distant screech of metal wheels against rails.

They stop in front of a sealed door. Goro squints. Crimson veins run through the surface, forming a pattern of four circles and a diamond in the middle. Joker knocks on it with the back of two fingers, but the passage stays close.

“Dead end,” he announces.

“Figures,” Skull rumbles and kicks the air.

Queen takes a step forward. “What does this mean, Mona?”

“It seems we’re not famous enough.”

“No shit,” Skull protests, “we took down a mafia boss, dude. This ain’t nothing!”

“I know! But still, we can’t do anything about it. People either don’t know enough about you, or they don’t believe you’re real.”

“Maybe,” Panther lifts a finger to her lips, “this means we have to keep aiming at bigger and bigger targets?”

Fox nods. “I was about to suggest the very same.”

“Like they fucking rain from the sky.”

“Jeez, I’m trying to help!”

“Hey, you,” Skull signals Goro to come over. “Maybe this thing will open if it’s you trying.”

One of his eyebrows shoots up. “I hardly believe my fame is bigger than yours at this point, honestly.”

“Eh, some modesty you’ve got.”

“Quit it, Skull,” Queen glares at him. “Crow, if you can think of any suggestion, it would be appreciated.”

He crosses his arms. “If I’m getting the hints correctly, we’re in the collective unconscious right now, yes? This means people will be subconsciously more prone to ‘open up,’ so to speak, if they know who you are… in this case, Panther’s idea appears as the most logical course of action to me.”

“Any possible target?”

 _Too many, and none of them is good._ He taps his booth against the floor. Shido’s Palace is out of their league and exposing this much knowledge could be dangerous – none of them trust him. _Except for Akira if I’m lucky._ Sae’s Casino would suffice, Niijima already knows about it, but every attempt at tampering with that outside the original period ended poorly. The SIU Director is the easiest way to get a call from Shido urging him to find them and kill them all. _This leaves…_

“I can name two people that are currently under the police radar and might be enough well-known, but we’ll have to verify if they possess a Palace.”

The group looks at him in silence.

He takes a deep breath. “Shujin’s principal, Mr. Kobayakawa. The public should know about him from the Kamoshida scandal.” He locks gaze with Queen. “And Kunikazu Okumura, CEO of Okumura Foods, the company that owns Big Bang Burger. I know your sister is looking into his affair, it appears that some of the breakdowns of the past months have… benefited him and his shareholders.”

“My god,” she covers her mouth with a gloved hand.

“I bet that asshole principal has a Palace,” Skull snorts. “He put a great effort into covering Kamoshida and sending miss prez after us. He’s rotten to the core.”

“We should go back to the real world and regroup. Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

“Guys…” Mona moans, “I’m getting a strange feeling here. Something’s fishy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, my… sixth sense is kinda screaming. We should leave, now.”

“Okay everyone, back to the bus—”

The clink of chains dragging against the floor echoes from the upper floor. Goro’s blood runs cold in his veins, breath gets trapped in his throat. _Obviously, the damn reaper._

“Why is it even here?” he lets out through gritted teeth.

“It makes no sense!” Mona backs him up.

“What do we do now, leader?” he whispers.

“Fight,” Joker replies materializing his dagger. “We keep it occupied while Mona searches for an escape route. Then, we run.” He holds his mask in place. “Skull, Panther, you two cover for Mona and be ready to switch places. Crow, Queen, and Fox, you’re with me.”

The Thieves exchange looks but they take the position as ordered. A giant shadow comes floating down the escalator, a mass of rags enveloped in chains holding two long-barrel revolvers, his head hidden by a battered hood. It stops at the base of the entrance, blocking every way out, and shakes the guns in the air.

“It’s charging,” Queen warns. “We have to defend ourselves!”

A blizzard crashes against them. Goro gasps for air, stumbles back, and falls on the floor. Ice crystallized amongst his eyelashes, shutting his eyes closed.

Someone screams.

He forces his frozen body to stand on his knees. One eye cracks open. Queen lays unconscious on the tiles covered in thick snow. Joker and Fox managed to sustain the spell, but their bodies are shaking hard.

He growls. _This is useless._ Loki’s voice calls for him in his head. The reaper moves again, floats nearer in their direction. Panther casts a quick Mediarama and Mona jumps on the escalator’s handler and signals them to be fast. Goro clenches his fists.

“Fox, take Queen with you and run. Joker, you go the other way.”

“What—”

“One attack,” he orders, “I need just one attack to distract him, but it will be violent. Get out of range, now.”

The two of them nods and dash past the reaper. Goro stands up. Every ounce of blood in his veins boils, every muscle tenses and prepares to leap. Darkness spirals around him engulfs him and tears away the princely, white outfit. The black mask covers his face, and he rips it away.

“Come, Loki!”

He surges forward and plunges the ragged blade of his sword into the shadow, slicing nothing more than air. It flinches, one of his revolvers lowers but the other stays in position. And it aims at Joker.

“Don’t even dare, you piece of shit.”

He jumps and charges a second time; the blade collides with the barrel with all his strength.

An explosion catapults him away – his back crashes against the steps of one of the escalators, and breath gets knocked out of his lungs. He coughs up blood. The shadow swims and flickers in his vision, a puddle of scarlet blood under its floating body. With a black tailcoat in the middle.

“No!” he howls, strong enough to burn the flesh of his throat. “I’ll tear you into pieces you—”

Two pairs of arms lift his body and drag him up the stairs.

“Let me go!” he struggles. “Let—”

“Do you want to die, too?!” a voice scolds him. “I’ll fucking punch you unconscious and throw you in the van if you don’t stop moving.”

Goro’s limbs go still. On top of the staircase, the Monabus is waiting with the back doors wide open. Down, a glimpse of the reaper standing mid-air above Joker’s corpse.

“ ’am sorry,” he sobs. “Sorry…”

* * *

He wakes up in the Velvet Room. Every fiber of his being pulses with pain. His eyes burn, blood pounds in his temples.

“Ugh.”

He sits on the wooden plank. Igor observes him from his desk, prim and unfathomable as always, his legs crossed, and his gloved fingers intertwined under his chin. Goro stands up with clenched fists.

“Why does this keep happening?”

“I don’t possess such knowledge,” he shakes his head, “yet I am certain that the course of one’s fate can, indeed, be changed. You yourself are living proof of that.”

“You said going farther back would have implied greater changes,” he snarls.

“And isn’t this true? You have altered many events over your leaps in time, Goro Akechi.”

“Not the one that matters the most!”

“Unfortunately, your world and the lives of its inhabitants elude my control,” Igor lets out a deep chuckle. “I can’t determine whether a person lives or dies.”

Goro punches the wall. The bones in his knuckles crack – his mouth twists.

“What am I missing? Why every time I leap back, something gets…” his eyes widen. _With every repetition, the extent of the revisions grows bigger, and Akira’s death worsens._ He blinks. His hand falls back by his side.

“I have to retrace my steps,” he murmurs. “Cancel every divergence I caused moving from one wordline to another.”

_Until I reach the moment where everything started._

Igor hums. “Have you strengthened your resolve, then?”

“Yes,” Goro closes his eyes, “I must go back from the very beginning and set things right.”

_Starting from Medjed._

The familiar high-pitched laugh echoes in his ears. “As you wish,” it sings.

Shido’s office unravels before him in his mind, the man sits at his desk smoking a cigarette with one hand and holding a newspaper in the other.

“These ‘Phantom Thieves’ are starting to build a name,” he comments with the corner of his mouth curled down. “This is a problem. Any chance they’re operating outside of the Metaverse?”

“None, sir.”

“We need to take care of them, or else our… business risks of being exposed.”

Heart drums in Goro’s chest. He clenches sweaty palms and swallows down. _This is the first step._

“This is purely a suggestion, sir,” he makes up a smirk and forces every word out of his mouth. “But maybe we can exploit their fame and turn the favor of the masses against them?”

Everything stops. His head spins, and the urge to gag raises from his stomach.

He blinks, and Shido is pinching his chin between fingers.

“This is a very interesting idea, Akechi.”

“Oh, no,” he grins, blood boiling, “this is a mere first step, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have: the comeback of Makoto's pov, some hope, and some heart-to-heart.
> 
> You can find me on Twitter [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes), be warned tho because I retweet P5R spoilers.


	8. Makoto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time! Might as well be the shortest in the fic up until now but I suggest you read it carefully because it contains pretty important details c:  
> It's also the last one from Makoto's pov! Goodbye Mako :(
> 
> Also, usual thanks to my special beta reader Hansei AND a very special thank you to all the people who've subbed to this fic! Your support means the world to me, so really, thanks!

Makoto draws in a sharp breath.

Cognitive Akechi stands before his flesh-and-bones counterpart, bent on himself with one of his clawed hands clenched against his injured side; the thing raises his left arm, grip tight against the handle of the firearm. Its gloved index moves on the trigger.

“Like this, you’re no use,” it spits, “but don’t worry, I will make sure to carry out the task in your stead.”

The shadow moves the gun and shifts aim against their group. Against Joker. Air gets trapped in her lungs, and she urges her hand to move, run, grab the revolver by her side.

Real Akechi stumbles forward with a choked hiss, materializes his jagged sword, and stabs the opponent right in the chest.

“Don’t… fucking dare,” he pants and kneels on the floor. A raw cry echoes in the engine room, one shot is fired but hits the metallic tiles and ends buried in the ground.

Makoto supports his hold on the revolver with both hands and presses the trigger. The bullet pierces right through the throat of the shadow, which disappears in dark smoke and particles. Akechi rests crouched down supporting his weight with the sword, with loud, ragged gasps escaping his mouth and blood spilling by the cut on his side with every pulse of his body.

“Mona!” Joker orders.

“But… are you sure it’s—”

“Anat!” Makoto rips her mask off. Green spirals of light engulf Akechi’s frame, knit flesh, and skin together, and erase up to the smallest injury on him. His breathings do not slow.

“What… happened?” he asks in a hoarse voice.

“Dude,” Skull kicks in, “are you for real?”

He makes leverage on the sword and stands up. “Just tell me,” he snarls. A burning eye flashes from the crack in his dark, pointed mask, sharpened by the eyebrow above pressed in a furrow.

She signals her teammate to stay back and takes a step forth. “You fought us, but we won, although with little margin, and then your cognitive double appeared. He threatened you, then Joker,” she inhales. “And… you saved him. So… thank you, at least for that.”

Akechi’s pupil blows, his eye grows bigger and glassy, and his whole body trembles, the sword slips from his grasp and clatters on the floor. His mouth moves in un unintelligible mutter.

Skull elbows her. “I think we’ve lost him. Even more, I mean.”

“I don’t think he wants to fight us anymore, though,” she scratches her jaw.

“No,” Akechi shakes his head but keeps his position. “There’s no need for that. Joker’s alive — it’s ok.”

“What the hell man?!”

“Enough for now,” she chides. “We need to regroup and focus on the next step, but this is not the best place for a strategy meeting. Joker?”

“Yes,” he nods, “let’s go back for today. We have all the letters – the route is secured.”

The walk to the nearest safe room on the side bridge is coated in thick silence and filled with glances to the slender silhouette dressed in black and blue stripes that threads ahead of the group. On the front deck near the exit, both Joker and Crow stop to stare far off in the air. Makoto squints, but the shapes of their backs tell no clues, as doesn’t the sinking skyline of Tokyo that stretches as far as the eye can see. Akechi turns his head away with a deep scowl on his face. Joker stands still, shakes his head as to dispel a thought, and joins them on the tip of the prow.

The Meta-Nav announces their return to the real world, and patches of bubbling red and black stain her vision: Shido’s Palace disappears, and the stern architecture of the Diet Building comes into sight. The group exchange looks, someone bites down lips or plays with strands of hair. No one dares to speak. Akira adjusts the straps of his schoolbag and turns to face them with a sharp grin.

“Curry at Leblanc for everyone?”

The unanimous ‘yes!’ roars through the empty street leading to the subway station. Makoto sighs, a smile unintentionally unraveling on her mouth; warmth blooms in her chest and she allows a little huff to leave her lips. Everything clicks back to normal with Haru and Futaba arguing for who gets to have Mona curled up on their lap during dinner, and Ann and Ryuji bickering about food and calories while descending the stairs. A picture-perfect post-infiltration exuberance, with the only stain of Akechi’s beige coat proceeding on top beside Akira – they walk in silence, the first on the left with his neck slightly curved down, and the second on the right, gaze wandering and a face beaming. His eyes meet her. ‘It’s all right’ he mouths without speaking and hastens the pace to pass through the subway turnstile.

***

Sojiro welcomes them with a double blink and a resigned shake of his head.

“It’s only Monday and I already risk of running out of ingredients for the week,” he grunts.

“But Sojiro,” Futaba pouts, “it’s a super urgent, super important meeting!”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he gestures toward her and Akira, “but you two are in charge of the dishes.”

“Deal stroke,” she giggles and adjusts her glasses on the nose with a smirk.

They stack all the bags and coats on the last booth seat and take place between the middle table and the counter. Akira and Sojiro lay plates for everyone; the latter hangs his apron, retrieves the hat, and walks to the door.

“Be sure to clean everything. No spot left, no piece of cutlery out of their place. Got it?”

“Got it,” Akira and Futaba reply in unison.

“And you,” he points at the younger girl, “don’t come back late. I’ll stay up waiting for you.”

“Mhhkay.”

He waves a hand in their direction and steps out; the bell rings, and the door closes behind him.

“So,” Makoto claps her hands, “back to business.”

“Can’t business wait?” Ryuji groans. “I’m starving.”

“You can eat _and_ participate in the discussion.”

Morgana sniggers from Haru’s lap. “If you’re able to.”

“What did you say?!”

“If you don’t stop,” Makoto spells with an icy tone, “both your portions will be devolved to Yusuke.”

“That would be a rather generous act, indeed,” he nods.

“Anyway,” she clears her voice, “we’ve gathered all the five letters of introduction – the path to the treasure should be open now.”

Futaba raises her thumb. “Can confirm.”

“So, next comes the calling card.”

“Leave that to me this time,” a mischievous grin spreads on her lips. “I assure you, with my special plan there’s no way Shido won’t see it,” she chuckles. “All the country will have their eyes locked on us.”

“Which brings us to: Akira.” The boy stands with his back leaning on the counter, on a spot between the first and the second barstools. He nods, and Makoto nods back. “You’ll have to appear on screen as well and reveal that all the suicide affair was fake. Is that… ok?”

“I can do it.”

“Good. So, on to the main topic,” her look moves onto Akechi. “Please, explain yourself.”

He shifts on his seat next to Akira; his eyebrows draw nearer on his forehead. “What exactly, if I may ask?”

“You fought us with the intent to kill us. To kill _him_. And as soon as your cognitive version manifests and tries to do the same thing, you’re glad he didn’t die?”

“It wasn’t worth it.”

Her blood boils, her hands itch, her nails scrape her palm with the urge to hit, hit, _hit._ She takes a deep breath.

“Does it all come down to this, then? To the _worth_?”

Akechi’s own fists clench, the corners of his lips twist down. _As if he has any right to be offended._

“No,” he turns his gaze to the floor. “It… wasn’t right. It wouldn’t have been fair.” He shakes his head. “Believe it or not, I truly tried my best to protect him at that moment.”

“But—”

“Look,” his head jolts up. His eyes are of a softer shade of russet, hollowed of the glint that separated him from his shadow. “I have no intention of opposing your group anymore. I just want to settle the score with my— with Shido. Possibly while making sure… no one dies. You are free not to trust me, you would have all the right to do so.”

Akira stands straighter. “What are you suggesting, then?”

“Well,” Akechi crosses his leg and assumes that look of his with his fingers pinching at his chin. “Your goal is to change Shido’s heart. It’s… not necessarily the solution I’d hoped for, but I’m in no position to make demands. So, let’s say my goal, too, is to ensure that man gets what he deserves.”

“We’d share the same goal in this case.”

“Precisely,” he smiles.

Silence stretches in the café. Makoto takes her first spoon of curry and rice and forces her throat to swallow it down. Spices and bittersweet cream coat the inside of her mouth and raise up through her nose – the signature spiciness of Sojiro’s recipe lingers on her tongue, makes it prickle.

She drinks water from the glass.

“You’re not allowed on the frontline,” she puts down the glass with a blunt thud.

Akechi’s ‘Excuse me?” overlap with Akira’s ‘What?’

Her knuckles turn white around the cold glass.

“You won’t be part of the main team. We have to make sure you either won’t trick us again or try to take Shido’s life in battle. If you stick with the defensive, there will be enough of us to keep an eye on you.”

“Makoto, we need—”

“I know he’s powerful, Akira. I know we need his skills. But we can’t risk it all again, not after everything we’ve achieved, not a week before the ballot count.”

Her lower lip trembles: she bites it. Stormy grey eyes scrutinize her frame like they do searching the blind spot of a shadow to start an ambush. She holds her chin high and keeps contact. Akira exhales.

“At one condition,” he raises one index. “Akechi will switch place with someone if the battle turns for the worst.”

She restrains a grumble. Haru’s hand reaches for her arm from across the table ad squeezes.

“I think it’s a good deal, Mako.”

She slouches a little more in the soft seat – her eyes start to burn dry. _What a situation._

“Ok,” she lets out, “ok, we’re settled then.”

Akira looks down on his right. “Akechi?”

“I cannot say I like being discussed in this way as if I’m not here, but you don’t need to worry. I’ll follow your instructions.”

“Good. Anyone else has something to say?”

The tinkle of spoons and the gulps of drinking resound in the café as a unanimous answer. Makoto picks another bit of her curry, bites down against the metal, and the acid aftertaste of steel lingers on her tongue.

“Meeting adjourned,” Akira proclaims, and finally sits down to eat his own dinner.

Ryuji slides out from the booth, plate in hand with still a portion of curry left.

“Hey man, do you think I can… I dunno, put this into a box? Thought my mom could like it.”

“Sure,” he gestures, “there should be some plastic container on top of the fridge.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Yusuke, too, stands up from a stool.

“I should get going as well, my curfew is approaching. The meal was delicious, as to be expected from Boss.”

In front of her, Ann chews on her lower lip and eyes her and Haru.

“What are you girls doing?”

“I think there’s a car already on the way for picking me up,” she answers. “Do you need a ride?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry. The train’s fine, I can go with the others.”

Makoto nips at her rice with the spoon.

“I think I can stay a bit longer. But you all should go home and rest. Tomorrow we’ll have to arrange the calling card.”

Morgana jumps on the table. “She’s right. We’re close, but this is exactly why you all need to be in top shape for what comes next.”

Agreements and nods fill the room, and most of the Thieves exit the café with big praise and thankful words for Boss. Akechi, as well, leaves his plate in the sink but stops near the counter, beside Akira.

“Do you have a moment?” he asks, and his shoulders hangs in a slight curve as if pushed down by gravity itself. She digs the spoon deep in the curry and stills. Akira looks up at him, nods, and turns to their table.

“Futaba?”

“Oof, ok. I’ll wash the dishes,” she gets up, stretches, and drags her feet to the sink. “But the drying is on you. And you own me a favor!”

Leblanc’s door closes behind the two, and a heavy sigh slips past her lips.

“Yeah, same,” is the answer that comes from the kitchen.

Makoto pinches the bridge of her nose. “Sorry, I should keep myself more in check.”

“Nah, it’s ok. Akechi’s max difficulty to deal with.”

Water pounds from the tap and splashes against flat surfaces. Futaba grunts.

“I hate this,” she mutters, “washing is gross.”

Another spoonful of curry – there’s still half of it. She swallows the bite down and covers it by downing the whole glass of cold water. She wets her lips.

“Hey, Morgana… how is Akira doing?”

His tail twitches, and he avoids her gaze.

“Not… perfectly. He’s not sleeping well.”

One of her eyebrows shoots up. “Nightmares?”

“Yes, but he won’t say what they’re about. ‘Just bad dreams, that’s all,’ he says. But they have to be particularly vivid because sometimes he can’t get back to sleep at all.”

“I wish I could help more…”

His whiskers shake with a twist of his pinky nose. “Honestly, you’re already doing a great job with the schedule and money and all the planning things. He definitely needed some help.”

“I don’t think Akira is at peace with this solution though,” she shakes her head.

“He’s not, in fact. But…” his voice falters, “I think it’s for the best. The interrogation must have been taking a toll on him, he only got worse since.” He licks a paw. “Yet… I think you might have overstepped with Akechi, before. It’s still on him to decide how to split the team and how to lead the fight.”

Hot blood rushes to her cheeks. She squeezes the spoon in her grip.

“You’re right, Mona. I’ll apologize to him when he gets back.”

“Good,” he nods.

Makoto forces his stomach to accept what remains of the dinner. Having Akechi back on the team is like watching a wasp nest outside the window: as long as they are closed off and stay away they can’t sting, but the smallest distraction, the tiniest opening and they can fly in the room and elicit general panic.

The bell rings, the door swings open. Akira comes back into the café; the other one waits on the threshold. Futaba shuts the tap closed with a hard smack and jumps near Akira with the right hand held high and wide open.

“Baton pass!” she prompts. Akira lets out a small giggle and high-fives her.

“That,” she points the sink, “was the grossest secret boss fight of all times. I despise washing. I wish Sojiro would get a washing machine. You so much own me a favor, Akira.”

“And what can I do to repay you?”

She covers her mouth, but her eyes sparkle behind thick lenses. “Buy me the new chapter of my favorite time-travel VN.”

“The one with the microwave thing?”

“Yes!”

Akechi coughs as if he chocked on some water. “Time travel and… microwaves? The same ones for heating food?”

She huffs and waves a hand, dismissive. “I know it sounds crazy, but that game makes it make sense.” She takes a few steps forward with a sharp grin on her face. “You interested?”

“Well,” he adjusts the collar of his shirt, “the topic of time travel is fascinating for sure, so much that a lot of science fiction works and such alike focus on that.” He shrugs. “However, it’s not like such theories can be proved, unfortunately.”

Futaba pouts. “You sound exactly like one of the main characters.”

Makoto lays her spoon on the empty plate with a soft clink.

“He’s right, though,” she blurts out. “With our current knowledge, time travel might be possible in theory, at best, but thinking about experimenting it, physically, is nothing more than a fantasy.”

“You school nerds are no fun,” she theatrically shakes her head. “Anyway! Time for me to head back home – I’ll tell Sojiro you liked his curry very much. ‘Night.”

Futaba leaves, and Akechi, too, graces them with a light bow and his goodbye. Akira walks to the sink with stealthy steps, and the rustle of clothing and clattering of a pile of dishes being moved fill the air. Morgana nods to her, to him, and jumps off the table.

“I’ll wait for you upstairs – don’t be too late.”

Makoto lifts her plate and lays it vertical against the less occupied portion of the sink, grabs the sponge and detergent, and starts to scrub off the dried sauce and leftover rice grains with circular motions. Heart drums in her chest, pumping blood to her face, and words and sentences roll over her tongue without leaving her mouth.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” Akira asks, eyes still focused on drying the dishes. “For staying out this late.”

“Sis isn’t home yet, and at any rate, since November she’s been a little more… flexible, with these things.”

She washes away the dirt and bubbles and scratches until the surface is white and smooth again.

“I appreciate the concern, though. Thank you.” She shakes her hand to let wet drips fall off. Grabs the metallic edge of the sink. “And… I’m sorry, Akira. We should have discussed battle formation together.”

His shoulders relax, and he turns to look at her – behind squared frames, his eyes are of a duller shade of gray, outlined by dense lashes and darker, thin lines running along the lower lid.

“Yeah. But I see your point. It’s a wise, safer approach – it will do.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“It’s just that… Shido’s a powerful opponent. We don’t know what he will confront us with. I thought it wouldn’t have been a bad idea to give it our all with additional firepower.”

She grabs a smaller cloth and wipes the inside of a glass.

“Even if it’s so risky?”

A little smile unfolds on his lips, but it doesn’t reach the upper half of his face.

“Better trusting a person that’s a neutralized threat than risking your lives because we can’t land enough blows.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but… how do you know he will do no harm anymore?”

“It’s,” Akira moves his hand in the air, his voice gets lost. “Call it a hunch? I don’t know. When he said he was trying to protect me, before, it felt like embarrassingly obvious. But I guess it doesn’t make much sense.”

“It doesn’t, no,” she confirms, but a quick laugh escapes her lips. “Still, we reached an agreement. That’s what matters the most.”

They move the pile of dried dishes in the appropriate cupboard and leave the rags hanging from the side of the sink; Akira puts back the glasses and cutlery, too.

“Thanks, by the way,” he stretches his back in a short sequence of pops.

“Oh, you know,” she shrugs, “leaving alone most of the time trains you hard on washing dishes.”

Akira smirks, wide and with some teeth.

“Am I witnessing a joke from Makoto?”

She clenches her fist to prevent her hand from smacking him. “Stop teasing me!” She coughs. “But I’m glad to know my hard work is appreciated.”

“Well, house chores are serious business.”

“Akira!”

“Right, sorry,” he scratches the back of his neck. “It’s… not so bad, to have a second-in-command from time to time.”

She sits on the booth nearest to the stair to retrieve her coat and schoolbag, shoved off in the far corner of the seat. The skin on her arm prickles under the cotton sleeves at the chilling of past closing time Leblanc – her winter coat embraces her body with a pleasant warmth. She stands before Akira. _I wish I could do something for the nightmares._

“I probably should head back home,” she says. “Thank Boss for the food and the usual hospitality.” She bites her lower lip. “Can I ask you what Akechi wanted to talk to you about?”

His eyes grow bigger, but he shrugs and looks away. “Nothing absurd. He asked a few questions on our activities while he was gone and checked other details. He said the berserk spell tends to take a toll on the memory.” He takes a strand of his fringe between thumb and index and tortures them. “Which is funny, because the moment he said that, I felt I knew it already – as if we’ve already had this conversation.”

“You mean you had a deja-vu?” Makoto supplies.

“Yeah, kind of. It’s not the first time it happens, either. I wonder if he experienced it, too. Maybe that’s why he used to spend so much time here.” He shakes his head, the same way he did back on the cruise ship, staring at the horizon. “Anyway, it’s late. Morgana will be insufferable if I don’t go to sleep soon.”

_Rightfully so._

“He just cares for you, Akira. We all do.”

His fingers go back to twisting his fringe. “I know. Thanks.”

“This is what friends are for,” she smiles. Her stomach gives a tiny twitch. “Goodnight. And rest. Tomorrow is a big day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are ready because in the next chapter we'll have Goro going a p e s h i t
> 
> My twitter is [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes) if you'd ever want fic updates and various blogging (I mostly like things tho, and I don't retweet too often)


	9. Goro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of the first chapters of the fic I created. Quite a number of things in the fic have been structured to lead to this chapter, and I'm happy I finally got to write it! Trigger warning for super duper emotional rollercoaster though, lol
> 
> After some consideration, I decided to further reduce the chpt count to 12 - I thought I had settled it with 13, but jokes on me, I was wrong. So, this leaves us with three more chapters left after this one: the last two, and the epilogue!  
> However, I started to work recently, so I'll try not to stall the fic for too long, but I don't think I'll be able to update anytime before let's say 20 days. It is as it is :(
> 
> Thanks a bunch to everyone who's following! Feel free to leave a comment if you want to express your thoughts on the story so far and place some bets on how this thing will end :3c

A short ring announces the end of the descend, and the elevator opens. Goro steps outside, a bitter taste in his mouth. He moves the black mask over his head. _Finally, I get to see it._

The Representative Chamber extends beyond the door, an immense room – the shape similar to an amphitheater – half-filled with seats placed in a semicircle. Against the farthest wall, an intimidating curtain decorated as a Daruma left opened in the middle as to simulate a mouth, and with only the eye on the right painted with a black pupil, hangs towering over a wooden tribune. A man stands proud on the spot.

Goro’s mouth twist. “He’s standing exactly where the treasure should be, isn’t he.”

“Yes,” Mona confirms, “I can smell it, I think. It should be… right above us.”

A giant, golden ship’s wheel shines from the purple glass of the ceiling, floating in the air.

“I hope you can turn into a helicopter, too.”

The cat hisses. “We have more important questions to deal with now.”

Skull dashes down the faint grade heading to the center, followed by the group. Goro moves but Oracle blocks his way. She removes the goggles and stares up and firm at him.

“Remember newbie: you’re with me. Put your detective skills to good use and boost my navigation. It’s super important. Every information is vital.”

He nods and places the mask back. _The irony of being under Futaba Sakura’s orders._ He walks near the others, where Shido is blabbering about the Metaverse – the man stops and scrutinizes him from head to toe.

“Even you,” he spits, “ungrateful brat. Biting the hand that has been feeding you for all these years?”

Panther screams. “He’s your son, asshole!”

“I was convenient,” Goro states, icy. “Until the election would come, at least. Both planned to get rid of the other from the start. We’re even.”

Shido snorts. “Don’t think you can act high and mighty with me now, Akechi.”

“Shut up.” His fists clench with the metallic screech of his claws. “I don’t care what you have to say.”

“Do you? Have you decided you want to be a true hero, for once? Like any of this will… redeem you?”

“ _Shut up._ ”

“Did they flatter you the way I did? Promising you a place to stay once this is over?” He chuckles. “There’s no place for someone like you – regardless of who will prevail.”

_I don’t care!_

Joker turns to him, face unreadable. His eyes don’t blink under the mask. Goro’s mouth opens, blood boils and quiets down. Hands unclench.

“I’m done listening to you,” he sibilates.

Shido’s low laugh makes his skin prick. “Not that any of this will ever matter,” he scales the tribune further up. “You will all be dead soon. Society doesn’t need some teenagers playing justice vigilante.”

Heavy tremors shake the Chamber, and its walls start drawing together in pinchers made by majestic balconies and green-velvet seats. He stumbles forward and steadies his body in the earthquake. Fox jumps on one of the looming walls and gestures them to come up as well.

The whole room shifts in a mock-up arena, and Shido climbs the last steps of a transmuted tribune, a golden lion made of the adoring masses. _Disgusting._

Joker signals the team to get into formation – Queen, Fox, and Noir step beside him. He checks on them and turns to face him once more. Goro nods and retreats in the backlines, where Oracle urges him to move faster.

“What with the kitty over there?”

“Isn’t it a bit too soon?”

“God, you’re useless,” she floats in the air, and a greenish impulse lights up the battlefield. “I’m searching information, hang in there, guys,” she speaks in the shared line.

The beast roars and surges with a wide blow with its front paw.

“Getting too close with physical and gun attacks would leave you exposed,” he supplies, “magic should work better.”

Fox gets switched with Mona to provide healing, and Noir and Queen land blow after blow with their spells. A Wage War gets dispelled by one of Joker’s personas. Goro shifts weight on his legs, his stomach churns. _They’re completely exposed._

“Oracle,” he warns, “they need coverage. If the beast charges, they won’t take the hit.”

“I’m trying but Shidos’ cognition is a pain to bypass.”

“What—”

She grits teeth and keeps working on a holographic keyboard. “I can’t do any miracles, I’m no healer. But I can change cognition in their favor from time to time.” She bites her lower lip. “Shido though… he knows about mom’s research. It basically feels like his subconscious is trained for eliminating intruders.”

He shivers. His cognitive version- it’s always been roaming through the palace, searching for him like an alarm system.

“Guys,” Oracle signals, “that thing is changing!”

The lion jumps and morphs into a chimera with huge wings and growls.

“Shit,” she mutters in the line. “I think this is the same as with my mom, you’ll have to use brute force here.”

Fox comes back on the frontline replacing Queen – a Psiodyne spell hits the spot where she stood, but the other withstands the attack. Skull is the next to switch place with Mona, confronting a little electric damage.

His body goes still. _He knows._

“Oracle he’s targeting weaknesses – he’ll get the upper hand if they don’t guard.”

“Tsk,” she grunts. One of the displays floating around her lights up. “Ugh, that’s not what I was after.” She throws kicks the air. “For now, I can only provide attack boost, be cautious.”

A Lakshmi appears behind Joker’s shoulders to heal the whole party, charging against the flying beast.

The beast roars and blazing flames are thrown out of his mouth.

Joker dodges the spell.

But a second Agidyne strikes him down on the floor. Goro’s soul burns with him.

_No, no, damn it._

“Oracle I’m going,” he warns the girl and sprints toward the battlefield. A scream echoes behind his back. The lion surges down and swipes Joker away with a swift strike of his paw – the boy is sent far over the border of the arena; his body disappears in the chasm left beneath.

“Joker!” Oracle cries in his ears, sharp and loud.

Goro freezes. He throws away his mask, and his eyes lock on the empty spot left in the frontline formation, between Queen and Skull, and the world slows down to a halt. _It’s been all useless._ A shudder shakes his spine, and his stomach twitches as if to retch. His throat burns with a wild scream that leaves him breathless. _It was supposed to work this time, it_ —

His heart stops. _I was a fool to accept that deal_. Pain stings in his head as if someone has shot a bullet in his face. _Akira doesn’t deserve to die._ He shivers like it’s cold but the blood in his veins is scorching lava.

A high-pitched chuckle spreads in his mind, and its vibrations shake his bones, deep down, and – it’s like with Loki and Robin Hood.

 _“So, you can finally see the truth,”_ the thrilling voice speaks to him, splitting him in half. He grabs the side of his head and gasps for air.

_“You have fallen in a loop set by your own will – yet I can grant you the power to break free.”_

“I need it,” he pants and grits his teeth, adrenaline rush so strong he needs to tear his skin away from the flesh.

_“Then vow to me. I am thou, thou art I. Countless worldlines and the ability to pierce through time and space to escape an inglorious fate. Don’t fall prey to the past, use it to change the future instead!”_

A flicker of blue flames and his black mask is back on his face, it became one with his features. He holds the lower edge with both hands and rips it off with the familiar, agonizing crack of laceration.

“Come, Nyrtia!”

Warm blood spills from his face and drips down his chin. Around him, what remains of the Representative Chamber is immersed in silence. The frontline team is frozen still in their position; above them the beast lingers still mid-air.

“Time has stopped,” Goro murmurs.

 _“You should not interfere with it, for it is made to flow,”_ the voice speaks behind him. A woman stands tall among an ethereal blaze with the bearing and majesty of an ancient statue, skin so pale it evokes the smooth marble of the sculptures portrayed in his art book. Long, feathered wings extend from her back, breaking through the cloth that drapes her body in flattering waves of luminous white. Goro takes a step closer, but his limbs are stiff and aching, and a hiss escapes him.

 _“Careful, young man,”_ the hint of a smile stretches on her lips, a mere trace of features as if her face had been worn out by the ages. _“You should save your spirit for the battle ahead.”_

“I can’t fight like this,” he pants.

 _“I was not born for war,”_ she waves her hand, an archaic hammer made of wood and stone appears in her right hand, and long nails with a large head floats above her left palm. _“It is something else that your heart longs for: a chance, a change in fate, and freedom.”_

He brushes sticky hair away from his forehead. “But first I have to focus on the present.”

_“You already know what must be done. Slow down and let your heart speak.”_

Nyrtia dissolves in the back of his mind, and the revolting smell of burnt wood and flesh stings his nostrils. The frontline flows back in motion, they guard and dodge and regroup and retreat nearer to the defense team.

“Crow!” Oracle’s voice explodes in his ears, “are you all right? I lost your reading for a second, it was like you… vanished.”

He materializes the sword; his grip tightens around the handle. “I need to join the fight.”

The lion roars and flaps his wings; he chases the Thieves altogether who splits into smaller groups to dodge the charge.

“You can’t be picky right now,” he seethes.

“Crow,” Queen calls, tone strained but firm. “Distract him, take him by surprise so we have a decent window for healing and buffing.”

A ragged laugh bubbles through his chest and out of his mouth.

“I won’t hold back.”

He rushes forward, his hand flies to his mask.

“Loki!”

Goro slides the key in the keyhole, the lock clicks, and he pushes the door open. An empty corridor, coated in shadow and thick silence, welcomes him home. He lets the plastic bag full of Leblanc’s coffee and curry fall on the floor with a shuffle and a soft thud and leans against the door. _At least Niijima didn’t drag me home with her this time._

His eyes close, burning, and blood pulses in the back of his head where it touches the hard surface. His temples throb. He lets out a breath and it comes as a whimper.

“What the fuck,” he mutters with aching throat. The corners of his eyes start to prickle, and he blinks away the moisture in excess. A hiccup thrust his way up from his chest; he seals his lips shut with teeth gritting to the point of hurting, and exhales long and forced from his nose.

He kicks away the shoes and leaves them near the entrance, ignores the slippers, and proceeds forward. The little step whereby the wooden corridor unravels weights like a mountain climb on his sore limbs. He flips on the light in the small dining room and crashes on a cushion near the low table with scattered sheets of paper and a long, minimal case on it. He shoves them away and rests his head on the smooth surface.

He breathes in. Out. A sob fills the silence.

“Pathetic,” he spits. He holds his breath. Another sob.

_This won’t take you anywhere, idiot._

He wipes away the tears, but they keep spilling, down and down, and it’s disgusting. He slams a fist against the table. _I’m better than this._ He curls on himself.

“What the fuck…”

This is stupid. He swore to fix this mess, to set things right. He can alter reality and defy the laws of time and space and yet there is this one, stubborn thing that refuses to change, no matter what he tries or how further back he goes. Akira always survived every interrogation room, every threat to his life that Goro presented in his way, but at the switch in roles, every approach has led to the same outcome in the end – what a sick joke.

_It’s almost as if it’s fate._

His mouth twitches. Fate is a poor excuse people like Shido love to bother to justify their grandiose schemes and selfish aspirations. Igor, too, spoke about fate and avoiding ruin, saving mankind, and whatnot. _Some great progress I made by accepting his deal._

He’s been a fool. Again. So ready to accept a shady hand when it’s convenient, with a single goal in mind and nothing else that matters. A laugh bubbles in his chest and emerges from his lips. He thought he could play the system without even knowing the rules.

Goro sits straighter. His back aches and his muscles scream, the hangover after the intoxicating adrenaline rush that is awakening a Persona. Eyes burn, a plea for some proper sleep that he, _the irony,_ doesn’t have enough time for. He grabs a paper sheet, flips it on the clean side, and picks a pencil from the case.

He draws the stylized outline of a ship with a thick ‘X’ beside. From there, he traces a second line under the ship, that curves on the left and proceeds forward, until it reaches the shape of a house and stops there. He reconstructs his wanderings through wordlines by memory and numbers them from first to last. He taps his chin with the pencil tip. _A nice patchwork of parallel lines._

“Except they’re not parallel,” he mumbles. ‘Only one can exist at a given time,’ Igor said – and the Velvet Room shifts with every one of his leaps.

He tries to bring orders in the causality of things. He moved up Sae’s change of heart, and they got discovered – twice. He saved Akira in the interrogation room, the real one, and he got shot. He brought him in Shido’s Palace almost three months prior and they got ambushed. He fiddles with the pencil. That Akira dies as a direct consequence of his actions is the most logical conclusion.

_And yet…_

He circles the word ‘reaper’, near the end of one of the lines. It hasn’t been his idea to go to Mementos that day – it was Akira’s. And the group might lack notions of the Metaverse and its working but with two navigators and firsthand experience, they at least knew how to differentiate between safe and unsafe spaces. _Hell, it’s the first thing one learns to feel in there._

The platforms leading to those strange doors are secure – they emanate the same vibe as the hubs with the narrow shelters with chairs inside.

“And yet the Reaper chased us up to there.”

The concept of fate comes back to sit heavy within him. It’s ridiculous, but every evidence point toward a certain… force, that leads to Akira’s death, whether or not Goro acts against it, with the timing being the only variable – the more he alters reality, the sooner the moment comes.

The sheet is a mess of scribbles and nonsensical doodles and thicker and thinner lines intersecting with one another. Which aren’t parallel.

He draws a light bulb – a lamp can’t be on and off at the same time, and so act the wordlines, which activate and deactivate following Goro’s meddling with the switch. Theoretically speaking, it might exist at least one world in which Akira lives. _But I can’t spend my life trying to get there… like it’s certain, anyway._

He frowns. “But why am I the center of this?”

Igor talked about fate, and Nyrtia, too, mentioned it, and—

Tremors shake him.

“The ship,” he whispers and traces the first ‘X’ over and over. “I was dying on it, I was doomed, there was no way I could have escaped that situation alive. But I did.”

Igor’s words resume to haunt him. _‘_ _You escaped your unlucky fate by causing a shift in time and space. What a pity that your victory has come at the expense of the one who had already successfully avoided his own ruin.’_

His pencil falls on the floor with the soft crack of graphite on the tip.

The two poles of a switch – either on or off. Two sides of a coin that can never land in the middle – it will always end up as head, or tail.

“And in these timelines, the coin toss always results in heads.”

A laugh flows out of him louder and louder. His throat aches. _All this time, it’s been this simple._ One of them must die – how poetic, how ironic. How revolting.

He crumples the paper, throws away the little ball, and storms out of the room. He slips his shoes on and goes for the door but stumbles in the plastic bag with Sojiro’s gifts for them all. As if sensing the curry, his stomach groans in hunger but the sole thought of food is enough to make him gag. He slams a fist against the wall. His hands itch for his sword, his blood screams to let Loki roam free and annihilate that bastard with the long nose who won’t even deign him of an explanation.

His other hand reaches the handle, and leather gloves creak in the grip.

He stops.

“You want to toy with me?” he growls. “Fine. I’ll rig this system, too.”

He unclenches his hand and steps out of the shoes, sets them aside in favor of the slippers. He grabs the bag, walks to the narrow kitchen nested alongside the corridor, and lays its content on the small counter between the electric cooker and the sink – the curry can wait, but the coffee will be necessary. It’s cold, and it tastes pungent.

In the dining room, he retrieves the crumpled sheet of paper, smoothens it, and places it back on the table.

“I need a crack,” he thinks aloud. “But where is the crux of the problem?”

He grabs a red pen from the case and writes and alpha near the original line. _Here, I die._

With a blue pen, he draws a square bracket aside from all the other lines and signs this second group with a beta. _Here, Akira dies._

Risking his life to go back where he started would be stupid, and if his theory is correct and Akira would survive their meeting on the ship, or Shido’s fight, Goro won’t be there to witness it. No guarantee. But there must be a way to replicate the first shift, to make the coin land in the middle.

He blinks.

_A fake death._

There’s his cognitive double on Shido’s ship, but eliminating that shadow proved useless to trigger any change.

_But maybe with a Persona…_

He flips another paper on the clean side and scribbles a stick man. It’s pure speculation at this point, but if the most popular time travel theories stuck in the common subconscious and became part of the shared culture of multiple individuals, maybe they can be exploited in the Metaverse. _Exactly like Morgana turning into a bus due to people’s belief._

He draws a second stick man. The most acknowledged, most used conception about time travel: that if you go physically back in time, there will be two of you in the same period.

_Maybe it’s feasible with a Persona if use up all my spirit._

He returns to the first paper and circles the Ship once again. Normally, a person going back in time isn’t supposed to interact or meet with themselves – but Metaverse has cognitive beings. Nobody will know he’s not one.

_I have to generate a paradox._

In the spectral red light of Mementos Goro descends the stairs of Shibuya station. Bloody roots more akin to veins wrap around the metro turnstiles, and the flickering blue of the Velvet Room shines in the far-left corner of the hub on the first underground floor.

He summons Nyrtia, and the black suit fades away to the clothes he wore in the real world: a pair of discolored, too-tight jeans, short on his ankles, and a heavy sweater that was once oversized.

“I need to go back. Physically, this time.”

 _“That would require quite a strong will,”_ her voice echoes in a light trill. _“It will wear you out.”_

“I can manage that.”

_“Then you may proceed as you wish. Your heart knows the process.”_

He closes his eyes and focuses on the day of the interview and Shido’s alarming call that deepened his suspects. No tv studio or station passageway shapes before his eyes, yet the world around him doubles, and pain drills in his head and he stumbles forward and falls on the knees.

His chest contracts, and he gasps and pants, but he can’t breathe enough air; his body shakes, limbs are stiff, and gravity weights more and more on him. The revolting landscape of Mementos blurs in his vision, and he bites hard in the flesh of his knuckles not to concede and faint on the spot. He sinks his teeth down, down, and the skin starts to prickle, the bone hurts, a pulsing ache grows stronger.

A tarnished, grey backpack materializes beside him, and he fumbles over clothes and ammunition with the shaking fingers of his free hand – they cling against cold metal and retrieve the thermos containing what remains of Leblanc coffee.

He tears his mouth away from the biting and downs the beverage altogether.

The fog in his mind clears.

He takes a deep breath and stands up with slow motion. Neat, reddish little marks are left around his knuckle and in the pulsing skin between his thumb and index, but no blood spills. _Good._

He lifts the backpack and adjusts it on his shoulders, picks his phone from the pocket of his pants, and select the option for returning into the real world. He climbs back up the staircase, and Shibuya station square welcomes him with the chill of an early December afternoon. A guy plays the guitar near the Teikyu building entrance, a small crowd of people is gathered in front of the lottery booth, and few passersby in business clothes walk through the square with heads down on their phone.

Goro digs his hand in the back pocket and finds an old elastic band. He ties back his hair in a resemblance of a ponytail and studies his look in the front camera of his phone. _Hopefully, no one should recognize me if I lay low._

He heads for the station’s main entrance and checks the train to reach the Diet Building.

The Phantom Thieves come out of the subway stop with their usual, chaotic chatter; they hide from prying eyes and disappear into the Metaverse. Goro checks the time on the phone: 17.10. _It will be at least another hour before I get here._

He waits.

His other self reaches the place by bike, secures it in a near cycle rack, and enters the Palace as well.

Goro leaves his hiding spot, spells the keywords, and the cruise ship takes shape before him. _The other me is probably gathering information about the Thieves._ He takes out his detective uniform from the backpack and changes clothes, unties his hair, and picks up the firearm. He lets the backpack disappear, checks for Loki and Robin Hood, and heads inside.

No one bothers him along the way to the engine room. He enters from the air conduct the Thieves likely used – _or, will use?_

He climbs down into the room and crouches behind the farthest one of the machines. He loads his gun and swipes away the sweat from his forehead. His clothes stick to his body, and the smell of burning fuel stings his nostrils.

Steps echo from the control room – the yakuza members come to discuss the situation. The Thieves break into from the air duct and argue with the cleaner. They fight some weaklings and proceed further.

Goro assembles the silencer. _I know you shadow bastard will come to hide right here, c’mon._

And there he is, treading all prim and proud to wait for his turn to try and keep the beloved captain safe.

Goro slides further back and removes the safety with a click.

The shadow turns the corner and eyes the place to find the most suitable spot. The thing looks left and right and gives him its back. He slides forward and presses the barrel against its back.

“There will be enough of me in this room,” he whispers, and a smile creeps upon his face. “Die, you useless puppet.”

He fires the shot, the shadow collapses on the floor with a bloody hole in the middle of its shoulder blades and vanishes in a mist of black smoke.

He removes the silencer and lets it slip in the inner pocket of his jacket – a shiver runs down his spine at the familiarity of it. He grits his teeth. _It’s in the past, it doesn’t matter. I’m saving him this time._

Above him, the metal passageway gives away soft creaks under stealthy steps.

Heart hammers in his chest; he tightens the grip against the gun.

The Thieves come back victorious from the control room. The other Crow jumps down from his post, and the battle begins.

Goro presses his back harder and harder against the hot surface of the machine – attacks rage, voices speak and scream, orders are given in a script he knows by heart. _I must not look._

Robin Hood is defeated. Loki is summoned.

He secures the gun in the back of his black slacks – the cold metal stings through the shirt, and the memory of a failed break out crashes on him.

Loki gets dispelled. The other him is at his lowest.

Goro adjusts the knot of his striped tie and tugs at his gloves.

_How do you say, Joker? It’s showtime._

He walks past the mass of pipes and engines running, into the light.

“Akechi?!” Skull exclaims.

“Another one?” Fox follows up.

Oracle starts to fiddle with her computer. “It’s Shido’s cognitive version of Akechi,” she skims through data. “Although… what even is this reading? He seems like a real person!”

The cat shakes his head. “It must be because Shido knows how well Akechi managed the Metaverse.”

Goro chuckles a deep laugh and points the gun against the him that lays kneeled on the floor. The adrenaline rush in his body sends his pulse crazy.

“I’ve come here to finish the job you couldn’t deliver,” he sweet-talks. The other him squirms.

“You’ll thank me for this.”

“Someone stops him!” some voice yells.

Goro pulls the trigger. He pulls it again.

The world shifts – his head aches, his vision dizzy, and his stomach gives a decisive twitch. His heart falls from his chest, breaths get stuck in his lungs; he gasps for hair and shuts his eyes closed.

Someone screams.

He opens his eyes and flexes the arm holding the gun, still stretched out, as if it’s not even his own body.

“His signal is… gone,” Oracle’s tone comes muffled from far away.

The shutters are back down – a punch hits them from the other side.

“C’mon Joker,” Morgana urges him. “We can’t let a rotten criminal like Shido do what he wants any longer!”

_It worked._

Goro seals his mouth and the scent of leather fills his nose. The corners of his eyes water and prickle.

_It worked._

The firearm falls from his grip and clatters on the floor. The mumblings on the other side of the shutters cease.

“What was that noise?” Panther asks.

Oracle chokes on her voice. “Wait I’m getting a new reading, but… this is impossible.” She takes some steps and knocks on the metal. “Akechi? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he sighs and bites down his lip to restrain a full sob to come out.

Exclamations erupt from the group and a series of punches and slaps hit the shutters.

“I’m starting to get his parameters, he seems fine,” Oracle provides. “But holy shit Akechi, how did you do that?”

“Call it an ace up my sleeve.”

“Well,” Skull says, “you and your freaking ace can meet us out of this hell so we can celebrate!”

The sound of a smack against an arm.

“Can you manage to get out from there?” Oracle asks. “You should be able to pass through the air conduct we used during the infiltration.”

Goro swallows and forces his voice steady. A smile on his lips unravels, unrestrained.

“Sure. I’ll join you on the side deck.”

Café Leblanc beams with light; cheers and laughs saturate the room. Glasses of water, coffee, and soda are held high in the air, feasting the incoming calling card, and Phantom Thieves’ new member. Goro keeps his gaze low and drinks from his cup, and the familiar, bitter taste showers his tongue and sends his face on fire. _I dig my own grave._

Sojiro Sakura shakes his head but toasts with his white cup.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to celebrate _after_ you’ve defeated the bad guy?”

“True,” Takamaki hums, “but we prevented something really bad from happening today, so it’s okay!”

Kitagawa bites a spoonful of curry and nods. “Although, to be fair, we haven’t precisely ‘done’ anything.”

“Dude,” Sakamoto waves his hand, “we literally kicked Akechi to his senses, I think we did great.”

“I have a feeling he was, to quote your words, ‘kicking’ us as well.”

“But no more!” Takamaki proclaims, and tears open a bag of chips.

Sojiro Sakura shoots him a look and crosses arms in his chest.

“Sounds like quite the scuffle.”

He smiles. “It was. One person, in particular, demonstrated to be a worthy opponent,” he throws the comment and sips his coffee. The man glances at Akira, sighs, and looks back at him. Goro lays down the cup and scratches the wooden surface of the counter. “Let’s say it’s not something I will forget.”

“You better not!” Sakura-the-daughter says from her booth. “But memories that are tied to intense emotional response are retained best in our brains than others, and man were those some _very strong_ emotions.”

Sojiro Sakura sighs and collects the empty cups on the counter.

“Not to ruin your party, but someone must be the adult in this room.” His gaze lingers on him, and a chill down his back sends goosebumps on his skin. “I think there’s something that must be said, kid.”

Goro swallows dry and stands up. The café falls silent, and countless pairs of eyes set on him.

“I owe you all an apology,” he bows. _Hopefully, it’s the last._ “I attempted at your lives more than once and wronged some of you on such a personal level, I know a mere apology won’t be enough.” He stands straighter. “I had my reasons, but they were hollow. I cannot rewrite the past,” _sadly,_ “but I can work to make sure the responsible won’t be left unpunished.” He takes a deep breath – the path is clear, but giving it shape through words is like facing himself in the mirror for the first time in years. “This must include me, too.”

The Thieves nod in silence. Okumura raises from her seat, her posture graceful with her chin high, but her hands clench in tight fists around the hem of her pink pullover.

“We won’t take back what we said before. Nothing of it. This includes the fact that I won’t forgive what you have done to my father.” She bites her lip. “We take your word as a warrant. You can join us, but only with this condition.”

Sojiro Sakura agrees. “You’re lucky you met these kids in time. But let me warn you: one doesn’t simply stop being one of Shido’s men. You are in a dangerous position.”

“I know. This is why my testimony will be fundamental.”

“Heh,” he huffs, “some guts you’ve got, detective.”

Goro smirks and bows lightly.

The other Thieves gather the empty plates in a pile and retrieve their belongings. Niijima clears her voice.

“Hold on, everyone. What do we do with Akechi?”

His blood runs cold. _Shit, not this farce again._

“Pardon me?”

She hesitates. “We… cant’ leave you alone. It would be a problem if something happens, both from your side or Shido’s.”

“The girl’s got a point, you know,” Sojiro Sakura nods. “It’s not wise to underestimate that man.”

He sweats. “Shouldn’t I be safe until the calling card is sent? He still believes I’m working for him.”

Akira grabs his brown, leather bag and hands it to him.

“Take Mona with you.”

“What?!” the cat exclaims with his fangs bared. “Why me?”

“No, Akira’s right,” Niijima adds. “We can’t ask boss to shelter him, and no one can look over him beside you.” She taps her jaws with her index. “Plus, we should still have his phone bugged.”

Goro clenches his fists. _At least it’s not Sae’s house._

“I think it’s a reasonable arrangement.”

Morgana turns his puffy face left and right between him, Akira, and Niijima.

“Fine,” he exhales. “But I want sushi for compensation!”

Goro takes the bag and the cat jumps into it. It’s not heavy on his shoulder, but the fact that it moves and shuffles it’s… peculiar.

“All right,” Akira says, “meeting adjourned. Tomorrow we send the calling card.”

The group exits the café.

Morgana makes himself home and pops out of the bag, his paws dig in the fabric of his jacket and his whiskers tickle against his cheek.

“Don’t try to fool me, ok? I know Akira trusts you, but better be safe.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Goro raises his palm out of instinct and redirects it on his tie before it can pet the cat. “I’ll fight for him this time.”

_I’ve been for quite a while, after all._

The golden ship’s wheel comes floating down the glass ceiling, right in the center of the Representative Chamber. Everyone raises their arm to catch it – Joker stays on the side and watch. Goro remains still.

The Palace crumbles; they make it outside safe.

Akira discloses his hand and the group gathers around him to peak at the treasure: it’s a smaller version of the golden wheel.

“A legislator’s pin,” Goro states, flat. _Is this a fucking joke?_

“Yeah,” the other mumbles.

Sakamoto grabs the pin and turns it among his thumb and index.

“Man, sucks to know you guys had your life ruined for… this. At least we could sell Kamoshida’s medal.”

_I hope it explodes._

Goro shakes his head and clears his voice.

“I want to thank you all for what you did for me. I’ll reach out to Sae tomorrow morning. We should be able to proceed with a case as soon as Shido confesses on national television.”

Everyone nods. Akira offers him his left hand.

“Thank you, too.”

Goro accepts it, it’s warm despite the cold December evening, and alive, despite everything else.

The depths of Mementos are hell itself. In hindsight, they did nothing else than descending the human subconscious shaped like some sort of Dante’s Inferno.

_It’s only logical that a false god awaits in the pit._

Goro’s blood boils in battle, on the frontline he fights side by side with the others to finally break free.

But the Holy Grail heals and heals and heals and—

If this is the final opponent, maybe it was foolish of him to believe he could break the loop.

There’s an explosion of white light, everything fades from existence. Goro opens his eyes and they’re back in the sidewalk of Shibuya crossing as if nothing happened.

“What does this mean?”

The question crashes against the heavy silence of the group. Everyone averts gaze, clenches fists, shifts their weight from leg to leg.

And Futaba Sakura groans – she stumbles forward and falls on her knees, screams, and cry. The crowd doesn’t stop walking.

“They’re not seeing us,” he mutters.

His heart ceases to beat. He grips his jacket, but his fingers shake too much to tear the garments apart. He crouches down, his head spins, but no wordline shifted – _it’s like the first time I was dying in the engine room_.

The leather of his gloves unravels and vanishes into nothing, his wrists, too, and his arms.

Akira gasps and lays down on the floor, hand stretching toward his teammates.

Goro doesn’t have a hand to brush away the tears on his cheeks. A deep laugh escapes his lips. He ragged the system for the wrong outcome.

_At least we’re dying together this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you've already guessed it, but the next chapter will have Akira's pov, and boy, it won't be nice. (evil laugh)
> 
> [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes) on Twitter if you'd like fic updates and general blogging about fandoms! (but mostly P5) (beware of Royal spoilers)


	10. Akira

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter - definitely the shortest one! Seems I'm doomed to continuously contradict myself when I say things, lol. This is Akira making bad life decisions - that's it that's the chapter.
> 
> Anyway, we're almost there!!

Akira’s head is light.

The outline of Shibuya’s buildings trembles, the ground shakes, he stumbles forward.

His knees hit the sidewalk; he grabs the side of his head that pulses as if to explode.

His friends scream. He crawls and stretches his arm out, eyes stinging. A deep, metallic voice echoes throughout the air and every hair on his skin stand up, his heart drops from his chest.

_“Mementos and reality have become one. Those who disappeared from people’s cognition cannot exist anymore.”_

Their limbs turn dark and inconsistent and unravel like a knitted scarf whose thread has been pulled.

They vanish.

Akechi exhales a feverish laugh.

Morgana cries with the most human expression his cat face has ever morphed to.

“I’m sorry… the mission’s a failure.”

Akira rolls on his back. Bloody rain sputters against his face and stains the fake lens of his glasses. He raises a hand before him, a pale shape of five fingers against red clouds and rotting bones nested between Tokyo skyscrapers. It fades away like the shadows they confronted.

_It’s been all for nothing._

_Fire all around him. The stench of scorched skin and burned hair. Flesh peels off._

_He’s thrown in the air. The battlefield inside the Representative Chamber flows before his eyes – Makoto and Ryuji and Yusuke are looking at him from the frontline._

_Futaba yells._

_Akechi is frozen on the spot right between the two formations. His striped black suit is on, but he wears no mask._

_Darkness seeps through and engulfs everything._

Akira wakes up with a start.

His chest heaves, up and down in quick motions; the bones of his back hurt against something cold and rigid. A wooden plank. Above him, the cracked plaster of his cell, sliced in half by a slash pulsing with blue light – one side has chains hanging down, and the other mirrors the floor in a perfect replica. The cut proceeds down along the wall, invading the space over the toilet.

He swallows. _It got worse._

He sits on the squalid prison bed with a clatter of the handcuffs around his wrists and the heavy ball attached to his ankle. His temples are seized by pain, and he buries face in his palms. Ragged breaths blow hot and quick from his nostrils.

_‘Do you have a moment?’ Akechi asks him, with his shoulders curved in an atypical slouch. The tiniest threads of red unravel from the corner of his eyes, which stays open with the eyelids weighing down as if he lacked a week worth of sleep._

_He smiles and nods._

Akira gasps for air, a shiver down his spine makes his body tremble.

“The others,” he mutters, “I need to find the others.”

_Please don’t let them be dead._

He stands up, and the wall before him turns upside down, the toilet doubles.

_‘Akira!’ Morgana shouts. His paws press into his thigh, through the light fabric of the pajama sweatpants._

_His stomach twitches._

_‘Akira, are you all right?’_

_‘Yes,’ he slurs. His blood pulses, a hammer in the back of his head. He squeezes the sheets. ‘Must’ve been something I ate.’_

_A warm snout nuzzles against his side. ‘Are you sure it’s not the nightmare?’_

_‘I’m fine, Mona.’_

The hard stomp of a baton against the metallic bars is a bullet in his brain.

“On your feet, inmate!”

“Our master needs to have a word with you, inmate.”

Akira clenches fists. They blur in his vision, and he brushes them against his eyes. He stands up on shaking legs.

“What happened?”

Caroline points at him with the baton. “How impudent! Don’t you think you can have the easy way after what you did to this room.”

He grabs the bars and clings to the cold, smooth surface as a life rope. Igor sits at the desk in the middle with a grim posture, one hand taps the wood with gloved fingers and the other holds his chin. Around the man, chaos reigns.

The room maintains its rounded shape, but the walls, the doors, the other cells, they’re mixed and shifted as if someone forced the wrong pieces of a puzzle together. Deep cracks cut through the stones and the royal velvet carpet, and bars that are supposed to be for doors stick out from the walls, and golden threads belonging to the embroidery of the carpet decorate the ceiling in a nightmarish alteration of the original Velvet Room that might as well have come out one of Futaba’s glitching experiments.

The corners of his eyes prickle. _It wasn’t this bad last time._

Igor locks his gaze on him and intertwines his fingers under his chin.

“In the end, your rehabilitation was not carried through.”

Akira blinks. His fringe sticks to his forehead.

_‘It’s about the Justice arcana,’ he measures his words, ‘I thought I had no control over it but now, I feel in some way responsible for it, too.’_

_Igor replies with a chuckle. He waves a hand in the air, as his doubts are nothing to be worried about. ‘If an arcana shows a change in behavior, you should react accordingly – but don’t forget to accurately ponder your actions. You may gain something, as well as you may lose something else.’_

“You incompetent prisoner!” Caroline shouts and slams the baton against the bars.

“Where…” words struggle out of his mouth “where did my teammates go?”

_Are they dead?_

The man shakes his head. “Humans are more apathetic and more foolish than I thought them to be. The world will soon see its ruin.”

“Am I dead?” he asks with a lump in his throat.

“No,” he says, “but the state of your heart is worrisome. Your spirit is worn out.”

Justine holds tight the task list. “You are in no condition to proceed further, inmate.”

Akira leans forward, the cold metal on his skin is a balm. _If I’m alive, so must be them._

“Will the world end, then?”

Igor rests his chin on his palm. “You have lost the game. You were meant to bring change and upturn fate as a Trickster, but it seems it was too much for you to bear. I should have realized it sooner, given the progressively decaying state of this Room.”

“What—”

“In accordance with the rules, you must pay a price. Your life is forfeit.”

He digs fingers into his hair and screams from pain.

_Chains rattle, down in Mementos. The hooded shadow of the Reaper looms over him._

_An explosion roars._

_He lays down, it’s warm, but his limbs are frozen cold and stiff. The world is a blur of red lights and trains passing by and veins that curl around concrete pillars._

_Someone cries his name._

Akira falls on his knees. Heart pounds in his chest, so strong it could break through his ribcage. A low rumble akin to a distant thunder reverberates, and the floor under him vibrates.

_‘Precisely,’ Akechi’s lips quirk up. ‘I’m here to ask for your collaboration,’ he continues. ‘There’s currently a scheme going on, it involves both your group and me. If we don’t join forces, we won’t be able to stand a chance.’_

“…grant that man a swift death,” Igor nods to his direction.

The twins exchange a look, turn to their master, and gaze at him. Justine’s lip trembles. “If it cannot be avoided…”

“God’s decree is absolute,” he replies with a profound voice.

Akira grabs the bars, the skin of his knuckles bleaches to white.

“What?”

“My experiment has come to naught. Mankind is beyond saving.” He scratches the surface of the desk with a finger. “Yet I shall recognize your persistence. You endured great pain in the process of strengthening your bonds.”

His mouth is dry. The pit of his stomach contorts in a gag.

“Where are my friends?”

Igor chuckles. “You are assuming they did not perish.”

“Did they?” his head shoots up, his eyebrows draw together in a frown. “We disappeared together. If I’m still alive, there’s no reason they aren’t.”

Caroline swings the baton, sparks of electricity come out of it. “Don’t question our master, Inmate!”

Akira grunts. “I just want to—”

Pain in his head washes away every word. He bites his lower lip and curls up on the floor in a rattling of chains. The slash on the wall touched the floor.

The desk chair creaks and scratches the carpet with a muffled rustle. Steps come closer to his cell.

“Your companions are indeed safe.”

The voice that roared throughout the sky announcing their disappearance makes his blood run cold. His heart skips a beat; the twin wardens still on the spot. He clutches onto the edge of the plank serving as a bed and uses it as a leverage to stand up. A hiss comes out of his lips.

“Where?”

Igor scrutinizes him.

“How far your heart can still push you, I wonder?”

Akira grits his teeth. _Stop answering by asking new questions._

“I shall be frank,” he continues, “your condition is dire. You can no longer proceed as the Trickster – shall the state of this Room be proof of that.”

He swallows. “It’s never been a problem.”

“The Velvet Room is meant to reflect the state of one’s heart,” he points at him, “and yours has somehow been compromised. You should have noticed the progressively decaying state of this place.” He pauses. “Nonetheless, you were a hard-working prisoner, a capable thief who managed to reach the deepest part of human cognition and find the Holy Grail.”

He snaps his finger, and the door sealing his cell disappears in a flicker of little blue flames.

“I shall grant you an opportunity to make a deal with me.”

Akira fights back the snort climbing up his throat. _I’ve had enough of deals._ He swore to fight indolence and to free people from their burden, and he ended up dragging his friends to hell and disappearing from the collective mind. Sae should have been their last target. Shido. People’s unconscious. _The ‘last’ never came._

Igor goes on. “I can revert the world to its prior state. The Phantom Thieves will be praised, and ruin will be avoided as well. What do you say?”

_No._

He breathes in. Words are stuck in the middle of his throat in a lump.

_C’mon, it’s not difficult._

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

_Buy some time._

“What else will happen if I accept?”

The corners of Igor’s lips lift in the slightest. “No one will hold the memory of this… accident. The Phantom Thieves will meet fame once more, and you and your group may continue to take the hearts of corrupted individuals.”

“And your gain?”

“Observing you further may prove useful. You reached this point in the game playing with your heart burdened, after all. I expect amusing things to happen as soon as it is set free.”

_It’s not a game._

His teeth linger on his lower lip.

“Will this room return to its original state?”

“This rests upon you. Shall the cause of the interference be removed you might heal as well.”

A dangerous promise to cling to – there’s no guarantee. _But none of this would have happened if we wished to proceed safely._ He rubs a foot against the cold stone of the floor. Matters of life and death weight on his shoulder once more.

He clenches fists. _The others won’t remember._ And Sojiro will still run the café, Sae will build her case against Shido, Mishima will continue to run the PhanSite. The Phantom Thieves will keep up with their activities without the need to disband.

_There’d be still a place for us to be._

Akira shivers. Without a mask and a tailcoat, it’s all a lost cause.

He nods.

_It’s for the best._

“Very well.” Heat runs to his cheeks.

_The other option means everyone dies._

“I accept your deal.”

Igor chuckles a bone-shaking laugh. “Our contract has been sealed, then.”

His eyelids flutter shut. His body falls behind, but no floor meets his back.

Akira wakes in his bed, up in Leblanc’s attic. Bleak light comes in through the glass, and tiny snowflakes have replaced the bloody rain falling from the sky – which is clouded in thick grey, with no trace of bones nor innards between tall buildings.

He checks his phone: the late afternoon of Saturday, December 24th. The group chat is inactive – the last messages are about Shido’s confession on national television, and the shopping needed in preparation for Christmas and New Year.

He sits on the futon and slides the window open. A gust of icy air bites his nose, and his breath condenses in little white clouds. Few people stroll through the back alley of Jongen.

He frowns. _Everything is too quiet._ He stands up and heads downstairs.

The café is empty, with no customer and no Sojiro. He finds a sticky note on the counter with a message quickly scribbled on it: _‘Futaba insisted on buying the ingredients for the hot pot. I’ll leave you free for the afternoon for whatever meeting you might have today. Close the shop if you go out.’_

His cheeks burn. _As if._ He laughs and rolls the post-it into a little ball.

His phone vibrates in the pocket of his Shujin pants with a single, quick ring.

Akira opens the messaging app.

**Akechi:** I need to talk with you, _now_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, we'll have Goro slapping Akira awake. Metaphorically? Physically? Who knows :^
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's following! I can't believe I made this far with the story ç_ç  
> Sadly I have work and other urgent projects to focus on, so I'll either write the whole eleventh chapter in two days this weekend, or I'll stall it until I have more free time.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter ([@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)) for fic updates c:


	11. Goro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there's a detailed description of a person experiencing a sort of panic attack in this chapter. Read (or don't read) accordingly, and take care!

The sign on Leblanc’s door is flipped to ‘closed,’ but a dim yellow light filters through the glass.

Goro enters with the familiar chimes of the bell. Akira stands by the customer side of the counter, his back leaned on the edge of the wooden surface, his hands busy playing mindless tricks with a tiny paper ball. Eyes raise up and study him as if it’s a strange thing that he’s into the café.

“Hey Akechi,” he gestures.

Goro parts his lips. _He doesn’t seem to remember._ He takes a deep breath.

“Are you all right?”

Akira tilts his head to the side. “Yes? Why—”

“So, you really don’t know.”

He stills. “What do you mean?”

“God, this is ridiculous.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t even crossed the worldline this time.”

Akira stares at him like he’s speaking in a foreign language. Goro crosses his arms, a low exhale leaves his mouth.

“Do you remember the Metaverse?”

“Well, yes?”

“Good. Can you recall what happened in the last 24 hours?”

Akira flinches back – his pupils are blown wide, and his fists clench in a white-knuckles grip. A trapped animal with no escape. His lips seal tighter together.

“No,” Goro whispers. He lays his chin between thumb and index. His own hands itch to punch something – or _someone_. “You _do_ remember, am I right?”

His eyes turn away.

“Right. But _I_ wasn’t supposed to, was I?” He strides in front of him and squares his shoulders. “What have you done, Akira? What otherworldly trick have you pulled out this time?”

Akira shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. His back sets straighter, and his gaze returns to him, the cut of his eyes sharper.

“Let’s say it was a deal.”

He holds the stare.

“With whom?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Goro inhales deeply and forces his arms to unfold and rest by his side. Fingers tremble, and the whole of his body aches to let out the storm raging inside.

“ _It does,_ ” he spells out. “Mementos fused with reality, the world as we know it was practically approaching its end, and we _disappeared_ from it as if we never existed in the first place. Only a god could have reverted that. And you’re not a god, Akira.” He takes a step back. “What with this deal?”

Akira leans back onto the counter. “A… man I know offered me a compromise. I don’t think he’s really who he’s told me to be anymore, though. He granted me that if I accepted to revert society to its prior state, the Phantom Thieves could still exist and operate.”

Goro swallows down a laugh.

“So, you sold the world out.”

His pupils ignite as a lonely bush struck by thunder. And had this been the Metaverse, Joker’s dagger would have been pointed against his throat.

“I thought you all died!” His voice strains on the last word. “And if I hadn’t accepted that deal, me, you, all the others would have been, for sure.”

The bitter taste of bile coats the inside of his mouth, and the pit of his stomach gives a decisive twist. _Useless. It’s been all useless._

“Say,” he scoffs, “how are you so certain we’re safe? How can you know that _you_ are safe?”

_Your deaths never depended on you._

He stays silent.

“I trusted you not to make bad decisions as a leader.”

“You may think it’s the wrong choice,” he half-smiles, “but with your lives involved, I wouldn’t call it bad.” He scratches the back of his head. “Besides, it’s not like Igor gave me other options,” he mutters.

The world turns to ice, and it’s like learning the truth from the lips of his shadow double another time. A grip in his chest strangles his breath and every ounce of blood leaves his face.

“Igor?”

“Oh,” Akira waves a hand, “it’s not important, really—”

“Was this Igor’s doing all along? All of this?”

He squints. “Wait. You know who Igor is?”

Goro presses his lips tighter together. _Maybe it’s a conversation we should have already had._ He nods.

“He offered me a deal as well, but in hindsight, I know I’ve only been fooled.”

“And you’re the one who’s lecturing me?” he shakes his head, the corner of lips curled in the slightest.

He grits teeth to point his jaw aches.

“At least I just sold myself, not the entire reality.”

Akira frowns. “What for?”

“Oh, it’s quite hilarious, trust me. But I hope you believe in karma theory and time travel.”

His eyebrows raise up. “In what—”

“In the engine room on Shido’s ship, I was going to die. You could say it was my fate, and in a certain sense, Igor confirmed that. But I didn’t. Something strange happened, call it a shift if you want, and then… I was in the engine room again. And there were no shutters down.”

He blinks. “That’s not what happened, though.”

“Not here, no,” he raises a finger, “but there, I didn’t trigger the shutters. And you died because of my cognitive double.” He points it toward him. “It shot you, right in the chest.”

“That’s… How…”

“I can draw you a diagram with all the mechanics of it if you want, but this is not the most urgent question.” He tugs at his glove; the fabric presses hard against his fingertips. “It’s understandable if you can’t accept what I’m saying, but please know that it is nothing but the truth.”

One of Akira’s hands creeps up to his heart and digs into the white v-neck shirt underneath the blazer, his shoulders lean forward in a small slouch.

“Please tell me more.”

Goro wets his lips. “That time, on the ship, it’s been the first… but not the last.” He clenches his fists, and the leather stretches on his skin. “I honestly lost count of how many times I witnessed your death. They were… reasonable, at first. I used to attribute them to some misstep one my end, especially when Sae’s Palace or the interrogation was involved.”

“Why the past tense?” his voice quivers.

“Because, try after try, everything started to become more and more absurd. There was no sense in what kept happening. It was almost like—”

“It was my fate.”

Grey irises cloud and tremble under the dim lights, entrapped by thick frames, and lower down to stare at a pair of shaking hands with a sick pallor that matches the white on his cheeks. His eyes shoot up, wide, and the flesh of his parted lips trembles, as it did when the barrel of a gun was pointed against his forehead for the first time.

“It was you.” He stumbles back. “All this time, all the nightmares – even the Velvet Room, it was because of you.”

He brushes the back of his hand against his eyes and the glasses stay askew on his nose; he slips down with his back against the counter and crouches on the floor like some invisible strings keeping him up were cut.

Goro kneels before him, so fast that the bones on his knees reverberate with the hit. A piercing whistle rages in his ears, like a spear perforating him from side to side, and the edges of Leblanc’s furniture blur with one another.

“Wait, you – Akira, you remember.”

“This explains,” he pants, “the deja-vu.” He lays the back of his head against the wood. “Every time I spoke to you… something felt so strange… like it already happened.”

A shudder shakes his figure, and slender fingers move to his head and nest inside thick black curls. Goro’s mouth is dry, his head light and fuzzy as if someone slapped him in the face with brute force.

_Not this again._

He clears his voice. It comes out strangled. “Akira, keep calm—”

The other rasps, a strained sound that cuts the air like an omen, and clutches both hands to his chest with his neck buried between shaking shoulders.

“Even the reaper. Or Shido. I thought they were all dreams.”

With a revolting stomach, Goro stretches a hand to his arm. He curls on himself more and more, his breathing erratic.

“What’s… real?”

“Akira?” his own voice sounds distant and broken. He blinks away the prickle in the corner of his eyes and swallows down the lump in his throat. _If I go back, will I make it worse?_

Leblanc’s door is closed. Calling that shady doctor could work, but Sakura could walk in while he’s gone. Everything could happen while he’s gone. If this world hates Akira Kurusu so much, it could very well find its way to sentence him to death once again in the five minutes required to walk to the clinic and back.

_It’s going to happen anyway if I don’t do anything._

“Hey, Akira?”

It’s feeble, inadequate. He bites back a curse and takes a deep breath.

“Akira.”

Firmer. Still nothing. _Shit._

“Just give a sign. Whatever is fine.”

A mumbling. Goro stills.

_Stay with me._

He clears his voice. “This is Leblanc. We are in Leblanc right now.”

A deep exhale, a sniff. It’s something to work with. He adjusts better on his knees and leaves him more space.

“As long as we are here, nothing can change. It can only happen in the Metaverse. If I am outside of the Metaverse, no shift is possible. All right?”

“…okay.”

A mountain crashes down to dust, its weight eases from his shoulders.

“Good,” he smiles. “This isn’t a dream. This isn’t a memory. This is real.”

“How?”

Goro nips at his lower lip. _It’s easy for me._ The soft buzz of the refrigerator reverberates through Café Leblanc, the setting sun filters in through the glass door and the windows and paints its lower parts golden. Squares of orange light sparkle against the tiled floor.

“Well – you are sitting now. How is it?”

“Hard, and cold.”

“Okay. What else there is?”

“Coffee,” Akira sniffs. “Curry, too.”

“Yes, they’re Sojiro’s.”

“Sojiro… okay.”

He leans back against the counter, his shoulder bumps into one of the chairs, and moves it aside with a soft rustle.

“Okay, this is Leblanc,” he pants.

“Yes.”

“And you’re Akechi.”

“I’m here. Do you remember what day it is?”

“December,” he forces out. “The day before Christmas.”

“Correct.”

“Okay.”

Akira opens his eyes and stares at him, and he’s years younger. His chest heaves, up and down and up – his shoulders tremble but the heavy shaking is gone.

“Hey, Akechi.”

“Say.”

“This sucks.”

“I can try calling your doctor?”

“No,” he blurts, “just stay here. The world is okay if you stay here, right?”

The ground collapses under him, and he coughs out the air trapped in his lungs. His face is hot.

“…right.”

“My head spins. Feels like I just woke up upside down.”

“Well, you’re sitting on the floor, so that is down.”

“Right. Was it like this for you?”

 _Not this bad._ He frowns. “Not at first. It got worse with time.” He smooths the wrinkles on his slacks. “It’s different when it’s you the one triggering it, though.”

Akira closes his eyes and slips down more. “It’s strange. I have all these new memories now. But I can’t feel them in the same way.”

“Slow down, Akira. Focus on this moment.”

“Right.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Mh. Not awful. Not like I’m gonna die soon.”

“I’ll make sure to prevent that.”

“Eh,” he huffs with a stretched smile on his lips. “Isn’t that better?”

Goro pinches the bridge of his nose. “You could say that my will of witnessing your death is now inversely proportional to the amount of time that actually happened.”

“I didn’t understand a word,” Akira groans.

He rolls his eyes. “You should rest, you know.”

“Yeah. I could use a bed right now.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yeah. Maybe I can get up. I don’t want Sojiro to find me like this.”

He opens his eyes and stretches a hand to him. Goro stands up with a sting of pain in his knees and calves and lowers his own hand to grab Akira’s. His fingers tremble, but the grip is firm enough.

“Thanks,” Akira smiles. He gets up in slow motions and with a minimum swing.

“Can you climb the stairs?”

He plays with strands of his fringe and stares at the end of the corridor where the first step begins.

“Maybe if I hold the handrail.”

He stumbles forward and goes up the first row. “My body feels like I spent the whole day working out with Ryuji, but I can manage.”

Goro follows him up. The wood squeaks under their combined weight, and the clatter of their shoes treading echoes against the walls of the cramped passage. Akira proceeds slow, every push of his feet helped by the hand gripping the banister. The attic opens before them, its stuffy air lurks in the room like a thin mist, empowered by the stove radiating heat from the corner. Setting light blasts through the sliding windows, and dust particles float in the orange rays. _Quiet, for a Leblanc’s attic._

“Akechi?” Akira, sit on the futon, waves a hand in his direction. “Are you okay?”

“Just lost in thought for a bit.”

Souvenir and other knick-knacks pack into the shelves, colorful and uncoordinated and not even once the same as the time before. On the working desk, sheets of paper are scattered on the surface, and a bottle of water gleams in the sunset. He grabs it and passes it to the other.

“Maybe you should avoid coffee for the time being.”

Akira winces. “Do you remember who I live with?”

He rolls eyes. “At least see if your punk doctor has something to say in this.”

He uncaps the bottle and sips some water.

“What do we do about the situation?”

He grits his teeth. _Don’t change the topic._ He sighs.

“Nothing, for now. You need to rest and tomorrow it’s Christmas day.”

Akira mumbles and drinks some more water; his stare gets lost in some secluded corner of the attic. Goro steps before him and snaps back his attention.

“Hear some advice from someone who knows a thing or two about time. This isn’t how things were supposed to go, but just because we can tamper it, it doesn’t mean we should be reckless.” He places a hand on his waist. “We need a plan, and we need to be cautious.”

Akira clings to the bottle, and the plastic cracks under his grip. His eyes sharpen under pressed eyebrows, and his lips flatten in a thin line: just the mask is missing from the Joker that gives orders in the Metaverse.

“Don’t go alone.”

“ _I won’t._ ”

The retort tastes acid on his tongue. _This stubborn fool._

“I learned my lessons, I assure you. And besides, I don’t think I would be able to leave you out of this even if I wanted to.”

“So, you don’t want to,” he smirks.

“Precisely.”

The slight flinch of his shoulders and the sudden widening of his eyes are a sweet payback. Goro smiles back and tugs at his gloves.

“I get that you want to set things right, but these are no normal circumstances. We need to keep a low profile until we act and even then, it’s just the two of us since I get that your friends are meant to hold no memory of what happened.” He pinches his chin between fingers. “Moreover, I need to enter the Metaverse to trigger a shift, but we can’t be sure of what could happen the moment we step in.”

Akira nods chewing his lower lip and puts the bottle down.

“Okay. Makes sense.”

“Good.” He flinches his head aside – the last daylight is slipping away, and shadows reclaim the attic. He steadies his voice. “And thank you for your trust.”

“You say it like it’s the first time,” he grins. “What’s the program, then?”

“You rest,” he glares, “ _properly_. In the meantime, I gather information about the current state of the world. It will likely take the whole day tomorrow, so I’ll come back on the 26th.”

Akira frowns. “It’s Christmas tomorrow.”

_Like it matters._

A strained chuckle escapes his lips. He shrugs. “I say this in the most sincere and light-hearted way, but I don’t have any special place to be tomorrow. Just going around and looking for intel is fine.”

“Well, you could be here,” he states with a well-crafted neutral tone.

“I knew you would’ve asked. But I don’t think it would be... appropriate.” He shifts his weight from the left leg to the right. “I may not be Japan’s most dangerous assassin anymore, but I still have wronged Sakura and his family – and not only his.”

Akira nods slowly with a half-smile. The mattress bends and shuffles under the leverage of his palms, and he gets back up.

“I’ll see you on the 26th, then.”

The bell of Leblanc’s door chimes from the lower floor, and Sojiro and Futaba’s lively chatter echoes through the staircase.

“I should be going,” Goro says.

Akira nods back. “Okay. Then I’ll call back—” His pupils blow wide and shine in the half-darkness, his lips tremble. “Wait… where’s Morgana?”

His heart stops beating. “He was with us in Shibuya.”

“Yes,” he blinks, “but he wasn’t here when I woke up.” His lips purse tighter together. “Do you think…?”

Goro grabs his shoulders – the smooth fabric of his blazer is cold as if there’s no stove heating up the room. Grey irises stare right back at him through a subtle curtain of moisture.

“We can fix this, Akira. I didn’t fuck up more worldlines than I can count just to let one horrible decision be the end of everything.” He squeezes his slim frame. “We just need a plan. We can’t give up now. _I_ won’t.”

A lonely tear streams down Akira’s cheek, but a huff escapes his mouth. “It’s funny to hear you curse. Outside of the otherworldly berserk state, I mean.”

_The fucking nerve of this guy._

“Hey, Akechi. Can you give me a moment?”

Goro lets go of his shoulders, but Akira leans in more and rests his forehead in the crook of his collarbone. His body goes still as if some bug had stung him and left him paralyzed from shock. He slowly raises his hands but leaves them there, standing mid-air. _He practically had a panic attack; I should leave him space._

He waits and forces his breath to keep a steady rhythm. Akira’s back is curved down, but the slight heaving of his shoulders almost matches his own.

“You can call me Goro, by the way.”

“Okay,” Akira nods, and inky curls rustle against his uniform jacket. “I suppose it was about time.”

Goro closes his fingers around the hot ceramic of a Neo-Featherman mug, steam curls up from the wine-red infusion along with a dense smell of fruits and ginger. He taps a fingernail against the smooth surface. Before him, Akira’s own mug stands on the table, a cylinder of bleached white in stark contrast against the warmer tones of the wood.

The remaining water from the day bubbles in the siphons, and the dull lights paint the walls and furniture in faint yellow. The gentle drums of his fingers tick like a clock marking time at double speed. _How long does it take to put away some tea?_

The ceiling is silent above him. No rattle of shoes, no rasp of old planks. As if every other presence in the café vanished, and he’s the only person left there.

He shifts in his seat and crosses one leg over the other, the creaking of leather is as tearing as a cry would be. Tiny reflections flicker on the surface of his drink. He clings to the mug tighter, a subtle spark crawls under his skin and reaches deep into his guts.

He uncrosses his legs.

_This is ridiculous._

Akira Kurusu is upstairs, doing whatever the hell he must be doing that is keeping him busy, with the catlike stealth that distinguishes his every move and prevents him from making even the most muffled of noises. Upstairs, in the attic of Café Leblanc, in the real world, where he never died, not even once—

Stairs squeak and boots stomp down and Goro exhales a long breath. Akira threads towards the booth seat with his hands full of newspaper cuts and photos, and the entire room brightens.

The boy piles up paper sheets on the table and tops everything with a sort of pocket agenda whose cover is strained, with threadbare pleather at the edges. He slouches in the seat and adjusts his glasses.

“Sorry for taking this long. Thought to dig up some… materials to add to your research.”

His slender fingers move up to twist in the dark curls of his thick fringe, and the other hand encircles the mug – the tendrils on the back slightly tense. _Because this is the real world._

Goro blinks. He clears his voice.

“Well, your enthusiasm is certainly remarkable.”

Akira shrugs. “Thought it might be useful. Especially that one,” he nods to the little black agenda. “That’s my probation diary.”

“You had to take notes?”

“Every day, yeah. So Sojiro could report to the officer.”

He stretches an arm across the table and grabs it – an elastic band prevents the little agenda to split open and makes the two sides of the cover curve. He turns it in his hand and puts it back down.

“As much as I’m curious to read what’s inside, I believe this will be more useful to you. How are your memories?”

“Strange.” He lifts the mug and sips the drink, the hot steams cloud the lower part of his glasses. “Every now and then something new comes to my mind as if I should’ve known it but ended up forgetting it and then remembering it again all of a sudden.” He leans back in the seat. “Some other memories feel like the images left in your mind after waking up from a dream. If it makes sense.”

Goro nods. His lips linger on the circular border of the mug, the scent of ginger overwhelming. The scalding infusion tastes sour, a pungent flavor of red fruits and citrus worth of Sojiro’s most bitter coffee that causes his lips to purse together.

“Too strong?” Akira grins.

“Just unexpected.”

“Ann’s parents sent it as a present. Some fine mixture for infusion and all. She reclaimed the sweetest flavors and gifted the rest of the tea to us – well, technically it’s not tea.” He shrugs. “I went with strong and sour since you don’t like…”

Grey eyes squint framed by squared lines.

“Wait, you do dislike sweets, right?”

“I do,” he smiles, “even though I for one can’t recall when I’ve told you so.”

Akira scratches the back of his neck. “It’s… strange. Second-guessing everything you know because you can’t pinpoint the moment you learned about something.” He takes another sip. “How’s it for you?”

“Clearer, that’s for sure.”

“Because you’re the one doing it.”

“Yes. Think of it as standing before a fork. You take the road on the left, realize you’ve made the wrong choice, and then go back to the start and turn right instead.” He offers a smile. “In your head, it’s a single process, even if those around you can’t retain any memory of the time you went left.”

Akira goes back to fiddling with his fringe. “How do you differentiate between timelines?”

 _With your deaths._ He raises an eyebrow and sips his not-tea, and it scorches down his throat.

“Okay well, stupid question,” Akira resumes with a shake of his head. “But I need to learn.”

“You can start by drawing a comparison.” He lays down the mug with a light clink. “It’s not the first time we sit here in front of each other, at this precise table. Can you fill in the rest?”

The boy toys with the elastic band keeping the diary closed. “Some more clues?”

“It was during Sae’s infiltration.”

Akira’s gaze shifts and gets lost in the distance behind him; he blinks back into focus and passes a hand through his hair. “The Casino, right… was it one of your earliest attempts?”

“The first one, actually. We’ve eaten curry, but it was you who—”

“I asked you to talk?” he points towards himself. “And you were all avoidant of… something.”

“You suggested that I had already explored Sae’s Palace by myself.”

“Pretty good of me, huh,” he chuckles. “But I think I’m starting to get it.”

His eyes light up and the set of his shoulders straightens, he sits firmer and more composed into the booth with the corner of his lips curled up and electricity buzzing around his figure.

“What do we do now?”

Goro pinches his chin between fingers. _I shouldn’t overdo now._

“We keep testing your limits, at least for today.”

His brow shoots up. “You still own me an explanation, though.”

“That will likely take time, and it’s already late enough. Moreover, it will be easier for you to understand if you learn how to separate memories better.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he huffs.

“Sorry to wound your leader pride, Joker.”

Akira laughs and waves a hand in dismissal. “Oh, don’t worry, at least you can be openly bossy now—”

“In any case,” he coughs and glares, “I’d like to put these newspapers at work and check your knowledge about the world, in general.”

“You mean like, the news?”

“That, too.” He moves strands of hair away from his eyelashes. “You see, Futaba said something very interesting in the last worldline – which is the correct term to call them, by the way.” He takes a paus and quotes with his fingers. “ _‘Memories that are tied to intense emotional response are retained best in our brains than others’._ It was a lighthearted comment, but I did some more research on the topic and there’s enough material on it for a neuroscience thesis.”

Akira nods and leans in more on the table. “Well, that makes sense.”

“My theory is that you should be able to better recall events tied to some sort of emotion – both extremely positive, ore extremely negative. This would imply that other people are involved, especially considered your group.”

He keeps nodding, more slowly. Stills. Slate eyes go wide and blink and stare at the table from a rosier face.

Goro clenches his hand to kill a facepalm on the spot.

“Hit a sore spot?”

“Just a hunch, really,” he bites his lower lip. “I need to verify something with the others tomorrow. But. Anyway. Go on.”

“I’d simply like to see how clear your memories are regarding events less related to your closest circle, and if we can work with them or not.”

Akira scratches the back of his neck. “Hope I won’t freak out again.”

A fit in his chest. He wets his lips. “You won’t. But tell me if something feels wrong.”

“Sure.”

He grabs the pile of newspaper cuts and skims between titles and pictures and takes his own cellphone out to display what he found on the most recent news about the Phantom Thieves and the state of this bargained world.

Goro lifts the paper covered in thick signs and scribbles to Akira. The chair at the work desk creaks in the motion, and his fingers ache with a dull pain.

“That’s all.”

“Thanks,” he grabs the diagrams of his wanderings through time and space, and his eyebrows knit together. “It’s… a lot. But I think I got the gist of it.” He motions his index up and down. “Like a switch, right? Either on, or off. No multiple worldlines at once.”

“No. Only one exists at a given time.” He repeats Igor’s word like a mantra.

“Convenient,” he murmurs and flips the paper on the other side where more notes are written. “But holy shit Goro, this is incredible. You’re potentially a wildcard _and_ you can time travel.”

“So there’s no way I could lose, right?” His smile is bitter, and he gets up and slides the chair in its place. “And yet, I still couldn’t make it alone.”

Akira hands him back the inky mess and smirks. “But you have a plan.”

“I do,” he nods and holds the paper tighter. “There’s no guarantee it will work, though.” His fingers linger over the nearly unreadable report of his attempts and stop near the last shift. “I believe that the key is right here, in the engine room. It’s where I should have died, and it’s where I saw you get shot for the first time.”

“Wait, if you’re alive, and I’m alive, but we technically can’t be at the same time… does that mean it was _you_ the one who pulled the trigger behind the shutters?”

“Brilliant as always,” he chuckles. “Yes, I generated a paradox.”

“Which is cool, but not enough to solve this mess, right?”

“Unfortunately not.” He takes a deep breath, so long his throat and the back of his mouth ache from exertion. “Here is my theory: the fact that the world knows I’m alive is what it’s preventing everything to proceed in the right way. Let’s say this worldline is potentially better but is still the lesser evil. And you never know what might happen with the lesser evil. We have to aim for the perfect outcome.”

Akira takes a step forward and the set of his jaw clenches tighter.

“You can’t sacrifice yourself again, Goro.”

His gaze is unyielding, grey irises as intense as steel, and it sets fire to his nerves.

“I won’t.”

“But?”

“But _I_ was supposed to die that day. Igor himself made it pretty clear: it was me, or it was you.”

“Still, you’re here now. You’ve fought beside us.”

“Exactly. And I was wondering: what if that is the problem?”

Akira frowns. “You mean we shouldn’t have taken you with us in the depths of Mementos?”

“No, think greater Akira: I was never meant to join your group – so I shouldn’t. But this all would be pointless if I die. And besides, it’s not guaranteed that the eventuality will magically fix everything. It would be frankly stupid to lose our only tool to extricate ourselves from this situation.”

“Don’t talk about you as a tool,” he pouts.

He rolls his eyes. “My point is: everything in this world is about cognition. People saw me as part of the Phantom Thieves because I joined your team, sent the calling cart, traveled to the Prison… but if I were not to do such things, the general cognition about me would change. I wouldn’t disappear with you when Mementos and reality will merge.”

The air crackles between them. Akira stares at the circle carved in the paper where his fingers are standing. Nods. And looks up with gleaming eyes and the purest definition of mischief painted on his face.

“It would be a fake death. Everybody will think you died, but you won’t. Just like me after the interrogation.”

“Precisely.”

“Hold on,” he reclaims the scribbled sheet and skims over it. “If the world has to think you died or disappeared… this means the Phantom Thieves are involved, too.”

Goro slips the diagram away from his hands and puts it on the desk. He lays the weight of his lower back on the wooden edge and crosses his arms.

“Yes. My plan is to go back to the precise moment I shot my other self behind the shutters, and leave. Exposing my presence to your group is clearly not the right thing to do.”

“But then how —”

He smiles. “You, Akira.” _It’s always you._ He nods in his direction. “You know about the worldlines now. And the entire world will be in your hands yet another time. You have to distract the others and take them away from the engine room. Futaba must not notice my reading, or she will get suspicious. Lead them outside and proceed with your mission, so I can leave unnoticed.”

Akira lowers his head and clenches his fists. “Even with the Holy Grail?”

“Even with the Holy Grail. Nobody must know I survived. That’s the key, Akira: we have to fool the entire world.”

“How can I be sure?”

Goro uncrosses his limbs and swallows. _This is the tricky part._

“You won’t.” He offers a small smile. “You have to trust me. As much as I have to trust you to remember everything we’ve agreed to today when the worldline shifts.”

“That’s a big risk,” he mumbles. “I thought I was the gambler here.”

“This is our only chance. The last ace up our sleeves.” He forces the words out of his chest. “Between staying here and risking your life and trying to pull out this last trick, there is no way I can wait and do nothing.” He stretches out his hand to the other. “I said I wouldn’t give up, so I won’t. Are you with me?”

Akira smirks and slender fingers intertwine with his gloved ones. The grip tightens, and the other boy flinches in the slightest – he blinks, and a little shudder traverse from his shoulders to his hand.

“I just… all the times we’ve shaken hands like this…” He bites down his lower lip and hides his neck in between his shoulders. The hold doesn’t falter a bit. Eyes the color of stormy clouds on a cold winter day lock with his, and every sense in him goes haywire as if someone covered the whole of his skin in needles.

“Why do all this, Goro? You wanted to kill me.”

“Your death wasn’t fair,” he breathes out. “Your death wouldn’t and didn’t solve a damn thing.” He exhales. “You didn’t deserve to die.” He holds his stare. “And I didn’t want you to. I _don’t_ want you to.”

Akira gives the tiniest nod and his lips part a little. “What you said about memories connected to strong emotions… can I prove something?”

A smile fights its way on his face, which burns like Tokyo’s scorching summer sun is shining above them, and he blocks a bubbling laugh in the middle of his chest. _Of course it has to go like this._

“Haven’t you gathered enough evidence with your friends?”

The tip of his tongue flashes out to wet the pinky skin of his lips. _The bastard._

“A detective should know that additional corroboration is always better than fewer.”

Goro clutches Akira’s hands and yanks, a smirk on his mouth. “Go on, then.”

The entire world gets reduced to the warmth of Akira’s lips pressed on his, to the scent radiating from his skin with hints of coffee and curry and stuffy air and cheap, generic soap. To the soft puffs blowing against his cheeks that tickle and make every little hair on his skin stand. The world is just Akira, and it’s disgustingly cheesy but for once he’s not just visibly alive. His pulse hammers and screams at every contact, his body not only moves but can be touched. Experienced.

Whoever fabricated the Metaverse certainly got many things right about human cognition and its capabilities, how much it’s extraordinary; yet the empirical value of experience is how the normal reality works – a theory, a belief, they mean nothing without tangible proof.

Akira puts the tiniest distance between them to breathe. Goro catches him back.

Before the stairs of Shibuya Station, Goro unlocks the phone. The date of Wednesday, December 28th dissolves into nothing, and the red eye of the Meta-Nav stares back at them from the screen, like an omen. _Hopefully for the last time._

“Are you ready?”

Akira nudges his right shoulder against him. “Readier than ever.”

The city morphs before them, an ugly shade of bloody red coats the surrounding, and the entrance of Mementos take shape with all its repulsing veins and sick pulse. The area is quiet as always, but the left, farthest corner is devoid of the flickering blue light and the prison gate of the Velvet Room.

Akira adjusts his mask and tears his eyes away from the spot.

“We’re here. How does it work now?”

“I summon my Persona and cause the worldline to shift. Then, we proceed as planned.”

The other nods and hides his gloved hands in the pocket of his pants.

“Will I ever see you again?”

“Feeling sentimental, are we?” he snickers. A jolt in his chest ignites a warm ache, and it’s embarrassing how much this boy has grown on him. “Honestly, I have no clue. Even if your group succeeds in dethroning a god – and I’m sure you will – the situation regarding Shido and the conspiracy will still be complicated.”

Grey eyes look at him from behind the white domino mask, and thin lips seal together in a straight line.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Please don’t make this a tragedy.”

“Don’t treat it like it’s nothing.”

His jaw clenches tighter. “It isn’t ‘nothing.’ It’s our last and best chance to solve this mess for good. But what happens after that, we can’t know. If you survive and don’t sell the world to a false god again, I will consider the plan a success.”

Akira shrugs, but his eyes are sharp.

Goro waves a hand in dismissal. “Come on, Joker. You’ve played the damsel in distress long enough. It’s time to turn the tables.”

“Was I a good princess to rescue?” he smirks.

“The most excruciating pain in the ass of my life.”

The other laughs, and it’s deep and slightly lunatic; the sound echoes throughout the entrance of Mementos.

“All right, go on.”

Goro’s clawed fingers brush against the beaked mask.

“When I’ll make the shift happen, your vision will double, and you’ll probably feel lightheaded. It’s normal and even desirable since it means the plan worked and you’ll retain the memory of everything that happened.”

“Ready when you are,” he nods.

He closes his eyes, and the engine room with its shutters locked unravels in his mind. The grip on his mask tightens, and he tears it away.

“Persona!”

The world shifts – his head aches, his vision dizzy, and his stomach gives a decisive twitch. His heart falls from his chest, breaths get stuck in his lungs; he gasps for hair and shuts his eyes closed.

Someone screams.

He opens his eyes and flexes the arm holding the gun, still stretched out, as if it’s not even his own body.

“His signal is… gone,” Oracle’s tone comes muffled from far away.

A punch hits the shutters from the other side.

“C’mon Joker,” Morgana urges him. “We can’t let a rotten criminal like Shido do what he wants any longer!”

_Hurry up and go._

Goro chews on the inner of his mouth until the corners of his eyes water and prickle.

_Please Akira._

“You’re right, Mona,” his voice spells, firm yet strained. “We can’t give up now. Everyone, back in formation. Let’s open the Representative Chamber.”

He lowers the gun and secures it on his belt, picks up his phone, and opens the Nav.

“Joker, are you all right?” Oracle asks.

The silence stretches, his heart beats so strong that it might give him away as well.

“Yes, don’t worry,” he says, and his voice trails away with his steps. “Let’s move on.”

Goro grins and swallows down the scream roaring in his gut. He checks the Nav, and the engine room vanishes from his sight.

Bloody rain splatters on the sidewalk and slips past the hem of the hood covering his head. Goro yanks the fabric further down and hastens the pace towards Shibuya crossing.

People scream, crash, vanish into nothing. Those who can still move and act like humans made of flesh and bones yell at the police officers uselessly trying to contain the mob.

_Where are you? I know you’re here._

The main subway lines leading to Aoyama-Itchome pass from Shibuya. The majority of Shujin students must pass this way coming to and from the school.

_You have to be here._

The checkered texture of those flashy pants would be as easy to spot as a lighthouse in the night in normal condition, but with red coating everything it’s like looking for a needle in a city of haystacks.

_It doesn’t help that he’s not a remarkable guy._

Goro stops in front of the main entrance of Shibuya station. The situation is dire and taking the first train to Shujin could mean firing his last shot in the darkness hoping it hits the center of the target. In the pocket of his hoodie, he fumbles with the perfect replica of a calling card, the kind some shops used to sell before the Okumura accident.

A boy with dark hair of a bluish shade exits the turnstile of the subway, eyes big and lost scanning the area. His hands clutch on the straps of his schoolbag, and despite the cold December air, he wears a simple white turtleneck with his suspenders loose by his side.

Goro smirks. _There you are._

He curls more on himself and strides toward the founder and owner of the Phansite. He turns treading into trotting and hits him with his left shoulder, his hand slips out from the pocket and lets the card fall to the ground.

The boy flinches and turns to him to scream, but Goro is running towards the passageway and blends into the panicked crowd.

He lays his back against a concrete pillar and catches his breath – strands of his fringe stick to his forehead, but removing the hood means risking being spotted by someone. He peers from his hiding: the boy is still there, frozen on the spot, one hand strangling his bag and the other holding something.

And he stomps out of the station.

Goro follows him outside, where the advertising screens of the whole Shibuya display the Phantom Thieves logo. Scratched and disturbed, Morgana’s voice echoes from the speakers.

“We’ll definitely… take the world!”

The boy discards his bag and raises his fist to the sky, screaming and inciting the Thieves in a cringe imitation of a shonen anime, but all the eyes on the crossroads are on him. He goes on and on and people listen to his speech and Goro bites down his lip to contain the boiling excitement from lashing out.

The crowd cheers for the Phantom Thieves in turn, like a little snowball rolling down a slope that grows bigger and bigger until it’s a whole avalanche annihilating everything in its way.

With the sharp crack of thunder, a ray of light pierces through the thick stratus of bloody clouds revealing a glimpse of clear sky.

And everything turns to light.

Up above, where the group must be still fighting, a huge, majestic presence descends from the sky.

Goro grins and it hurts his cheeks. His blood buzzes under his skin, up and down his whole body.

_There you go, Joker. It was far too early for checkmate._

He turns on his heels and walks away from the gathering. Just one more piece and the puzzle will be completed.

Heels clatter on the sidewalk behind him. He stops.

“Akechi?!” Sae covers her mouth with both hands. “You’re alive.”

“Alive and kicking,” he flashes her a smile.

“Makoto told me… she said they lost you on Shido’s Palace—”

“Technically, they did. But making them believe I died was part of the plan.” He gestures to Shibuya square and the sky. “None of this could have happened otherwise.”

“Just how—”

“Oh, it’s a long, long story,” he shrugs. “But I believe explanations can wait. We have a more urgent matter to settle.”

Her gaze turns sharp, but she nods. “Yes, go on.”

He removes the hood and squares his shoulders. “Please, tell me: what would have happened with Shido’s case if you hadn’t come across me here, or if I were not to reach out to you? I have my suspicions, but I’d rather confirm them with you.”

“Building a case was already promising to be difficult, but with you gone, we lost the main witness and informant.” She turns her gaze to the sky. “Which would have left me no choice but to ask for Kurusu’s help. As the leader of the Phantom Thieves, he’s the second best testimony we could get against Shido’s crimes.”

“So, he would’ve had to turn himself in.”

“Yes.”

Goro tugs at his gloves. “But if I accept to turn myself in instead, there will be no need to involve Akira, correct?”

Sae’s thin eyebrows draw closer together, and she eyes him from head to toe.

“No hidden means this time,” he raises his hands.

Her smile warms up and her gaze softens.

“You seem determined. But I hope you’re aware that proving the existence of the Metaverse will be nearly impossible, and that we don’t know how far Shido’s claws have dug.”

“This is what I’m here for, Sae.”

“All right,” she gestures, “then please follow me. And thank you for your collaboration.”

Goro steps by her side and glances at the home screen of his phone: the set of his app has rearranged the layout to make up for the absence of the Meta-Nav. He locks the phone, and the clear sky dotted with puffy white clouds reflects in the pitch black of the screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> With this eleventh chapter, the main plot of this fic is OFFICIALLY CLOSED! The next chapter will be a simple epilogue, but all the things that needed to be solved happened here, so yes, this fic is practically concluded.  
> The epilogue will definitely happen before the end of the year, but first I have to focus on some other projects that need to be finished before Christmas.
> 
> Thank you very, very much to all the people who followed, left kudos or comment, or even a subscription. It means the world to me, and I hope you enjoyed this journey as much as I enjoyed writing it. I learned a lot this year writing this fic, and I can't wait to study even more and create new works in the future. If by chance you want to follow me or reach out to me to let me know what you think of this fic, you can find me on Twitter as [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes).
> 
> Last but not least, a HUGE thank you to DiscontinuousQualia and Hansei, my two moral supports in writing and many other things.
> 
> P.S. if you guessed for Akira/everyone in different worldlines... you guessed right! Poor Akira never saw it coming though.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this story comes to its (final-for-real-this-time) ending. Everything will be very short as you can see, but I don't think much else would be needed. I planned to end this little epilogue before the end of 2020 but then thought (for no reason at all) that it would be more fitting to wait until today, exactly one year since the release of the first chapter!  
> A big, big thank you to all the people who've followed until here <3

04/15/20xx

_Akira,_

_this is a personal favor she is doing to me. So no, it’s not her sister who’s writing, but I’m sure you already checked that with her. I would normally ask that you burn this letter once you’re finished reading it, but I highly doubt your sentimentality will allow such a thing, so at least keep it a secret better than you hid your true identity with your confidants._

_The case is proceeding. Not smoothly, but we both suspected that from the start – the conspiration has its roots deep into society, after all. And I’ll make sure they get eradicated, one way or the other._

_In truth, I don’t have much to say – nothing that could be entrusted to a letter, anyway. I’m doing fine, considering the overall situation… I imagine you would like to know at least that much. Just… don’t wait for other updates on my end. You know who to ask for those. She’s risking enough as of now._

_And by the way, you don’t have to reply to this letter, either. Actually, it would be for the best if you don’t, and yet it’s very likely that you will. But it only seemed fair to let you know that I’ve upheld my part of our deal and survived the events, despite everything else._

_I could even dare to say that I’m glad. I’m glad I made the decision to save you, over and over again._

_I hope you’re fine with your memories._

_Take care._

* * *

05/20/20xx

_Hey,_

_thank you for the letter. Took you long enough! (Mona says hi, by the way)_

_My parents will probably think I’m back to my criminal life if they see me with some envelope in my hand again but let’s not worry about that now._

_I’m glad you’re okay. I don’t have much to say myself, to be honest. I’ve returned to the same old city and same old life – it goes without saying that I miss Tokyo and its people. There’s nothing to do here and I still have to lay low and behave and all that._

_But anyway!_

_The memories are… there. It still happens sometimes, that I suddenly remember something out of nowhere, but it isn’t as frequent as the first weeks. Plus, I’m getting good at reconstructing the puzzle, I think I’m developing somewhat of a gut instinct for what goes where. I’m even making a very nice diagram that looks too much like some anime plot! So one day you could criticize it and judge me and my skills as much as you want._

_In any case, it’s nothing like that first time back in December… which reminds me that I still haven’t thanked you properly. So, thank you._

_Well, it kinda sucks, saying it in this way. Just know that I very much mean it, and… maybe I’ll cherish some memories more than others. I really wish I could speak about this with you over a nice cup of coffee._

_So. Feel free to come back by Leblanc anytime. I’ll be there in less than a year._

_See you?_

_Akira_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes).


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